


ask me a fate's riddle

by jenlvbug



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 19th Century, Aged Up NCT Dream, Aging, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Character Death, Fate & Destiny, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Light Angst, Light Smut, M/M, Minor Angst, Modern Era, Past Lives, Period-Typical Homophobia, Red String of Fate, Romantic Soulmates, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, dw it's in the past life, fated characters, prince and duke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29497020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenlvbug/pseuds/jenlvbug
Summary: He’s relieved to see the man keeps staring back as well, and Jeno presses his lips in an awkward smile, heart pounding and registering what he just saw in his head and what he’s seeing right now. Same dazzling, breathtaking smile.There’s a crease between the man’s eyebrows, tilting his head with his mouth open enough to allow his frontal teeth showing, nipping briefly at his bottom lip. “Have we met before?”.Jeno wants to say yes, they did. He’s not sure how to convince this handsome stranger they just didn’t in this dimension or time as far as he knows. He tries to speak, saying nothing for an indefinite amount of seconds, he must look crazy. “I’m not sure but I think we did”.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	ask me a fate's riddle

**Author's Note:**

> hi! 
> 
> i'm back with a new fic, and i wanted to write this one for the longest time. i'm kind of excited to share it, this is a fated lovers/ soulmates fic and it's very soft, it made me really happy writing it, specifically some scenes. this is fiction but jaemin and jeno truly have such a special bond and it's beautiful to see them growing together and being so fond of the other, they really inspire all these words alone.
> 
> i hope it isn't too messy, and that you'll enjoy this one!

“Your Royal Highness”. 

Jeno’s nose sticks to the cold glass window, fingers tracing the condensate forming with the angry sky pouring rain outside, mudding perfectly cut grass. Safe and trapped in the music hall of the duke, his head comely turns to blue blood staring at him. Beautiful dark eyes deepening at the same adrenaline of a challenge, a body leaning to the piano where his fingers are tracing the consumed keys. Each one of them loved in melodies, pressed in practice for years. Jeno turns back, ignoring the mellow voice calling him as he watches the coachman taming nervous horses through the pebbly path of the castle.

“Jeno”.

He tries again, stealing a mild smile from his curling lips, pleating cuff of his shirt wetting with the glass moisture, finally moving towards the piano, and the duke whose smile starts gleaming. Jeno leaps with the gentle wrapping of fingers around his veiny wrist, hand lifted until he feels the warmth of lips adoring just a simple uncovered space of his pale skin, devoted eyes locking with his.

“Can you play the new piece for me?”. He lights up a candle in the dark room, moving it on the smooth surface of the piano to illuminate the darkening space with clouds progressively hoarding in grey.

Jeno smiles sitting in the duke’s lap, preening at the fingers tracing his jaw, head turned to the pouring rain falling. Words ready to be whispered in the cathartic space rescuing them from a barely begun storm. Lashes fluttering with a speeding chest.

“I’d do anything for you”.

“Jeno!”. He startles from a hand swatting his fingers away from the mild press to the elaborated golden frame of a 19th-century painting, hand withdrawn in his chest realizing he has no idea why he’s touching it. Another time, he has no idea why he does most things recently. Donghyuck looks more confused and tempered with his loud whispering against the museum’s silence, violent in his kneaded artistic poetry. “You’re lucky no one’s here, are you aware you could get fired?”.

Jeno opens his mouth to say something, any sound unable to come out. He’s been working for a few months in the museum, being one of the senior guards himself, and since he’s moved and locked daily in the high walls filled with art he’s not the same anymore. 

“You’re going to think I’m crazy”. Jeno scoffs a funny laugh, still blinking his trance away. “I keep getting these vivid dreams since I moved to this room”.

Donghyuck presses his plump lips, bronzed skin glowing under the museum’s pale lights, an eyebrow raised in question. He’s definitely thinking Jeno is going crazy. Most times he can’t tell where he is, spaces out in front of a painting, or sitting on the chair where he’s supposed to work and watch over the visitors, getting lost in a timeless vortex of dreams looking like distant memories until someone brings him back to reality, to his own present. 

Today is Donghyuck saving him from that comforting haze. It’s always the same person with him, in every dream. And this time Jeno is sure he’s on the receiving end of all those conversations, touches, trusting fondness. The handsome duke called him, said his name, this is the first time he has proof of what was only a blind guess. 

What startles and makes him restless is how vivid everything he dreams is, he feels. He can describe in detail the humid cold of the glass window, the shivers of the warm press of that duke's lips on his skin. The air’s texture, the ancient he only gets an inkling of it once he’s back here, in the museum in front of one of his work colleagues.

“You need some sleep, we all do”. Donghyuck smiles, taking amplified steps echoing in the empty wide room. He pats his shoulder, walking towards the entrance to check who he has to work with today. 

Donghyuck Lee is a tour guide, owning a degree in history of art that led him here instead of working at the nearby prestigious art academy as most do, saying if there’s something he hates more than kids are teenagers. He still has to deal with the youngsters, sometimes visiting with couples of parents or even worse, dealing with entire school classes. Usually when it’s elementary kids booking a tour guide you can tell from the way Donghyuck almost squeezes the thin plastic cup of coffee from the staff break room.

Jeno sighs, fixing his mandatory black suit and takes place at one of the chairs, mentally preparing for the start of a new day where he hopefully won’t fall in that feverish slumber of the same life he sees and doesn’t truly belong to him.

The city is cold, breeze pinking his cheeks on the small lunch break he has after doing nothing much other than explaining where to go to find a specific piece of art, the new exhibition the museum holds this month or saving some poor souls from getting lost in the dispersive walls. He can’t blame them, Jeno used to go around with a map in hand the first weeks he started working there.

He makes himself smaller in the black coat, cigarette in hand trying to ease his stress and lack of sleep. He should listen to Donghyuck for once, this is probably just his sleep deprived unreasonable mind playing tricks on him, albeit whenever he gets lost into those unreal moments they feel so detached from the unreal sometimes it is hard to believe he’s only imagining them. The museum is beautiful, inspiring for a hungry mind, he’s heard many times the tour guides repeating details and facts about the paintings and old habits from those historic periods that maybe his mind just created a whole story to daydream about.

Maladaptive daydreaming, is the closest thing to Jeno’s continuous branching of stories he’s not part of but somehow that duke called his name today. He said he’s name after living a story that never felt like his and at the same time does, as if he was meant to witness it without really being part of it. Black hair, lean body and dark eyes waiting for him on that piano bench, high ceilings and paintings filling the room, a loveseat made of some refined light blue fabric resting in the room’s gloom.

There’s music in the ballroom, pleasing chatter and lightness of dresses drapes moving with the violins quartet, his own breath a hint jaded as he smiles at a woman after he leaves the allegro whirlwind of dancing bodies. Chandelier up their heads, shining brightly in reflecting crystal with a night he attends out of courtesy. Whispers of the duke attending the debutantes season as it is common knowledge the man isn’t looking for a wife fly in a chatter or a harmless gossip as he enters the room.

Prince Jeno is known for his kindness and humble approach of whoever tries to steal his attention, never restraining to a dance or giving a lenient smile. He’d be lying if he isn’t curious to share a talk with the duke, he sure has the looks everyone has been talking about since it was announced he was coming back to the land. Jeno is a prince who never had the chance to travel, he’s attracted to what’s outside waiting for him, a distant call of his name. 

He meets the duke’s eyes, a dazzling smile as he bends his head in acknowledgement, attention faltered by his guard letting Jeno notice there’s a countess asking for his attention. Jeno isn’t sure why he gives a second look to the man, stealing all the light from the chandelier with a smile, a presence demanding to ignore.

Jeno coughs, knees giving in with his head dizzy. He makes a fatigued whine, nails scraping the stone of the museum stairs as a few tourists crowd around him asking if he’s okay. He tells them he’s fine, dusting his knees. Sickness sways his weak steps but he swears it got suddenly colder, air freezing threading under his coat. Jeno stirs his sore neck, taking in the music playing in the square of a few buskers capturing strangers’ attention. The time on his phone’s lock screen tells he has to get back to work, skipping the beeline of crowded people at the entrance showing his badge.

He couldn’t imagine a part of the riddle solving and tangling into a bigger question would come a few days later. Jeno wakes up in a pool of sweat, shivering cold as soon his legs abandon the heavy duvet hugging his troubled sleep. He brushes his teeth browsing the internet in his free hand, looking for some clues of the historic period of his dreams. 

Donghyuck told him sometimes the faces we dream belong to people already met, sometimes with nothing more than a mutual glance our minds eventually drown in all occupying the busy modern brains overwhelmed in daily overload of content, unconsciously registering that person’s features. Jeno agrees there’s an overload in his brain, shutting out what matters. He can’t recall if he’s ever met someone resembling the dreamy duke, and if Donghyuck is right — which he is most times and if he isn’t you still tend to believe him with that striking confidence, he has thin chances to give sense to this madness.

Jeno fixes his tie entering the museum room, coffee taste lingering in his mouth from the one he chugged down running to work. It seems already busy with the line outside the museum, promising a busy day and it’s out of the ordinary. Jeno checks again if he’s not completely gone insane and today is a regular weekday or he’s skipped to the weekend schedule without realizing it. He also looks at his calendar and no, he doesn’t have to work on Sunday this week.

He sees a large group of students, without a tour guide, following three people he supposes are teachers. They must be the academy students, Jeno has seen many of those. The infamous art academy is about twenty minutes far from the museum, and it holds many pieces the students learn about in their books. He considers them lucky to have the chance to see how they look right in front of their eyes instead of being printed on flat pages. 

Museums are quiet, there’s no rule here to stay silent, yet no one who isn’t a feisty child dares to talk an ounce higher than a whisper. Jeno finds it calming, sometimes boring unless there’s some academy kids gathering after school or actual artists practicing their skills by occupying a bench drawing what they see. It’s rare that Jeno engages in conversations, sometimes it might happen that a lonelier local finds company for a few minutes speaking to him. 

And out of all voices that could speak louder, this one telling the students to pay attention and don’t disperse is awfully mellow and familiar. Sounds like coming home, to that ancient music room and it echoes the same sweet, vibrant way. Jeno tries craning from his seat, getting a glimpse of who belongs to that voice, vision blocked by someone walking towards him.

“Excuse me?”. There’s a kind looking man in front of him, brown hair and thin frame of shoulders occupying the view he was trying to get. Jeno is at work, duty comes first, so he smiles and nods at the question. “Is it possible for our students to sit and draw? They’re quite a bunch so we could split them into alternating groups”.

“Sure”. Jeno gets up, gesturing where the students can take place without bothering other visitors too much with their crossed legs and equipment. “Make sure they don’t cross the railing for the paintings’ distance and we’re fine”. He smiles and feels incoherent, not when half unconscious he got scolded by Donghyuck a few days earlier caught with fingers tracing the frame. He’s lucky there’s not an alarm for this section of the museum, these paintings still aren’t meant to be touched and ruined after being conserved for decades.

Jeno is about to turn back to his position as his hand mindlessly touches someone else’s one. The day is gloomy, side profile staring at the rumbling rain from his chair in the reception room, a royal courtier announcing a visit Jeno was anticipating, waking up early in the morning with mild excitement he shamefully struggles to admit. He’s not allowed to use his father’s room for guests, today particularly glad to have his own alderman alone in the room witnessing his warming face as the perfect features of the Duke come closer to him.

“Your Royal Highness”. He bows, slowly glancing up and Jeno’s heart skips a beat. He straightens his back, glancing at his alderman nodding at him, encouraging. Jeno is aware he was definitely too fast accepting the request from the duke to see him, the promised friendly circumstances tempting. They’re not discussing anything of importance, Jeno just wanted to see him again after the ball.

He smiles, asking to be alone with the duke, and once the doors close he stands up, shadows of a terrible weather darkening the evening. “Might sound imprudent for our positions”. He gulps his stuffy throat, breath trembling nervously. “You can call me Jeno”. His hands clasp together, fixing his posture. 

The duke smiles, white line of perfectly straight teeth showing. “Unfortunately the weather is not as pleasant as this encounter”. He raises his eyebrows shaping a witty look. “Prince Jeno”.

Jeno turns, finding the man doing the same and his heart skips a few beats, stomach flipping in one quick, dizzying movement. Jeno has his entire body freezing with seeping cold air, mouth gaping the slightest as he keeps looking up and down the man with caramel brown hair and that face as puzzled as his is. He feels delirious to think that’s the duke of his dreams, happening to have the same exact voice. Jeno hopes he’s still dreaming, this time he’s in the right century and there’s no way this is a coincidence.

He’s relieved to see the man keeps staring back as well. Jeno presses his lips in an awkward smile, heart pounding and registering what he just saw in his head and what he’s seeing right now. Same dazzling, breathtaking smile.

There’s a crease between the man’s eyebrows, tilting his head with his mouth open enough to allow his frontal teeth showing, nipping briefly at his bottom lip. “Have we met before?”.

Jeno wants to say yes, they did. He’s not sure how to convince this handsome stranger they just didn’t in this dimension or time as far as he knows. He tries to speak, saying nothing for an indefinite amount of seconds, he must look crazy. “I’m not sure but I think we did”.

A tingling crosses his entire body once the man gets called by the other two teachers. They call him Jaemin, and Jeno spots him looking back at him again a few times, catching one of his colleagues saying they witnessed the most nonsensical flirting attempt ever. Jeno finds Dejun in the room, holding his shoulders and asking him if he can take over his place for a few minutes. He needs some fresh air.

Dejun reminds him to get his coat and Jeno understands that careful advice only when he reaches the exit. It’s snowing, an incredible amount of white falling to the ground so suddenly no one is prepared, some amazed looking up at the opaque clouded sky. Jeno grimaces, fingers pressed to his hurting chest and they tremble when he sees some drops of blood staining the candid snow, opening his shaky palm to realize his hands are covered with red liquid.

“Jeno, why are you- hey dude, is everything okay?”. Jeno gives Doyoung a terrified look, one of the museum workers he befriended during his short time spent here. He tries to nod, and once he looks down again the blood has disappeared. He imagined it, again. Maybe if he comes back inside there’s no Jaemin looking exactly like that duke, staying impossibly still as Doyoung rests a palm to his forehead.

“Doyoung”. He says uncertain his voice won’t come out, watching the man's apprehensive look, black leather boots stained with snow. It sounds insane, the weather went insane with Jeno’s brain. “Do you perhaps believe in soulmates or in past lives?”.

“They both sound fascinating, why are you asking?”. Doyoung looks around some people entering the museum, he probably needs to go back behind the ticket office booth. Jeno is stealing his time for his blabbering. 

“Nothing”. Jeno manages a smile — I think I found my soulmate, he wants to say instead. He doesn’t need someone else thinking he needs to rest. He also doesn’t truly believe in that fascinating, romantic idea himself, that’s enough to let it go. “I’m fine, I don’t want to steal more of your time”.

He leaves another glance at the snow falling outside before entering the museum, where he should be. He doesn’t find Jaemin, only the kind shorter boy and another woman with him, figuring he is accompanying the other group of students coming to draw later. They are one big class of students, Jeno has never seen these many except for the elementary kids with yawning small mouths and jittery legs as they get bored. 

Donghyuck says he despises children, yet he’s the only one able to tame those little moving balls of energy and entertain them by telling stories behind the paintings adding a fun twist to keep them calm and giggling. Sometimes Jeno laughs as well at the scenes he sees, and now he misses Donghyuck, folding his arms and sitting in his chair again. He guesses he is going to spot him sometime in the morning, depending what kind of tour he has planned.

Palm welcoming his resting cheek, Jeno’s enthusiasm comes back to life when he spots Jaemin, not too sure he heard the name correctly before. They lock eyes quickly, and a small shift has him notice one of the teachers elbowing him with a smirk. Jeno’s back straightens, not expecting the man to start walking where he is, fixing his posture and it looks awfully familiar to the brief vision he saw before. Happening in another century, where he’s no prince.

“What’s your name again?”. He asks, pressing his lips in a tense line.

“I didn’t say it”. Jeno shakes his head with a smile threatening to break too brightly, standing up for no reason and he’s around the same height of the man. “Jeno Lee”.

“Jaemin”. Jaemin stretches a hand to shake. “Jaemin Na, to be exact”.

Jaemin leans in his palm, a brave knuckle grazing his lips. They shouldn’t be in the gardens at this hour of the night, a prince and a duke both unweds, hidden behind high green bushes and a surprisingly clear sky hosting sparkling stars. Someone might see them, and how inconvenient would be explaining why they’re so close to the other, in a dark corner where a whole party is happening inside the mansion.

Jeno’s fingers are cold, burning against the duke’s cheek, with the same passion that has Jeno consuming to have him closer, just for a moment. He knew this was going to happen, since the first glance became more concrete, spending time alone inside his palace, for wandering and deeper looks stroking their skin more physically than the touch falling finally to the man’s face.

Jaemin sucks in a breath, Jeno’s fingers trace curiously the space of his neck, meeting the white collar of his shirt. Jeno’s eyes are trembling, lashes fluttering with the smooth feeling of the duke’s skin under his digits, taking a step further to reach a harboured closeness.

Jeno leaves the hold from Jaemin’s hand, looking around the space. Students drawing, whispering of enchanted tourists by the greatness of art, the academy teachers obviously looking at them and the year 2021 is back under his feet, stepping the modern grounds, the only ancient things in the room being those dated paintings.

He takes a look at the teacher. He looks shocked, holding back the hand that was shaking Jeno’s one. He’s afraid to ask if he sees it too and by the way he widens his eyes at him, it seems he can. Jeno wonders if his skin is warm, exactly like the hand he just took in his is, if he’s made of the same warmth of the duke, the Jaemin existing in another century and in the depths of Jeno’s mind. This Jaemin in front of him licks his lips, still holding firmly at his own hand.

“Do you?”. He stops, his voice comes out little, wobbling. Jeno nods, a bit frantically, stomach a mess of nauseous swirling, more than the dancing debutants he sees in his dreams, or visions if Jaemin shares the same ones. Jeno makes an embarrassed chuckle, drying his sweaty palms on his pants.

“I do, if we’re talking about the same thing”.

“Is that even possible?”.

Jeno raises his shoulders comically high, Dejun giving him a questioning look when he looks over Jaemin’s shoulders. “I have no idea”.

“Sorry, I’m disturbing you, uhm”. Jaemin looks where his students are, bringing his hands together. “You work here, so I guess we’ll meet again if I come back one of these days”. A half question, wrinkling his nose and Jeno thinks it’s adorable. Who’s this man and why Jeno’s heart beats stupidly both in his dreams and right now in his actual life.

“Sure, I’m-”. He points back at the chair, cringing at himself. “I’ll just be there”.

“Okay”. Jaemin smiles, and Jeno wants to scream as he nips his lips, the pink line showing again that gleaming gift.

“Okay”. Jeno says back, airy voice and once he turns to walk back to the chair and the man can’t see him he makes a funny face, blowing some air out to keep it together.

Jeno finishes his turn, seeing Jaemin and the students leaving in the early evening, probably heading to the academy or directly back home. He washes his face with cold water, trying to scroll off that feeling. His stomach turns in strange waves as if he’s left something, someone important behind, restless at the idea he’s going to see the man again tomorrow or after more days. That uncertainty makes him shiver, the anguish waiting is the same as the one prince Jeno felt.

When he gets outside there’s thick snow attaching to the wide square’s ground. Jeno might look crazy when he climbs down quickly the stairs getting out of the museum and sinks a hand in cold white. This time he sees nothing, no vivid dreams, no memories, just the real tangible ground. Jeno starts to wildly guess they’re memories, and if Jaemin sees them too, maybe they really were special to each other in another life. 

He wonders if there are other lives, which one is this he’s living now. Absurd is how it sounds the more he repeats it in his head, figuring the blood he saw staining the snow earlier means more than a simple, dreading hallucination.

Jeno is twenty-seven, born and raised in a small city not allowing big ambitions unless you’re planning to move out. An historical city, holding many precious belongings to the past, the museum is a particularly famous attraction for many tourists. He never got to university, his father dying when he was young had him abruptly replace a role bigger than his youthful age compromised quickly by the reality of responsibilities. Jeno found his way to be happy, and now both he and his sister are old enough, he was able to let go of his mother’s house, get the thrill of having his own small apartment.

He still has a few boxes with items needing more furniture to find a place, all compacted to a small living room connected to a narrow kitchen, a wider bedroom where he can fit a double bed and a large closet for many clothes he doesn’t have. It looks quite unstable, starting from the aging shelves. All the items were there when he bought the apartment, they are old and it costs to replace them; in late evening there's a strong orange glow coming from the sun setting, casting building shaped shadows in the house convincing Jeno to move in after seeing it the first time. It’s not perfect, and afterall nothing truly is.

He opens the laptop sitting on the couch with takeout sprawled on the coffee table, smell of food filling his nostrils, too caught up in his searches to give up and eat. If Jeno really was a prince in this universe centuries ago, he probably is able to find the royal bloodline he belongs to. His mind keeps thinking Jeno wouldn't be Jeno Lee, a regular young man working in a museum if he really was of direct descent from a royal family.

Food gets colder, the room turns darker the longer he opens tabs and doesn't find anything useful, increasing the belief that this is just a confusing coincidence out of this world. Jeno can't explain why he and Jaemin are connected, and he starts doubting they meant the same thing. Jaemin probably wasn't alluding at his dreams, he could have meant something else and this is a big misunderstanding happening in his mind alone. He probably met Jaemin in this life and at the same time Jeno is sure he would remember if he did, because the man is not easy to forget with that face.

Na is Jaemin’s surname, and Jeno keeps looking under him after his first failure. He finds nothing, except for a post saying it is better to consult libraries when it comes to smaller kingdoms. That's what has Jeno getting up early in his free morning from work, fast steps from the subway to the square. 

The museum's roof is covered with a thin layer of snow as he walks past it, most of it disappeared, melting to the grey asphalt where he’s walking towards the library. Everything is connected at a fairly close distance. The art academy hosts an historical part open to locals and tourists, an immense library where most students of all ages starting from high school take place in the studying area.

It has fascinating mosaics, ruined with time and humid cold streaming in the long lines of dark grey stairs. Today promises a good day, clear sky and no clouds in sight, hopefully the sun is going to warm everything including sombre corridors smelling of bygone paper.

Jeno walks through intimidatingly high towels of culture, embedded books supported by other volumes classified under barely useful tags, his eyes crossing as he scans the section a nice lady suggested he should look for. Pretending to be a university student working on his thesis at twenty-seven is amusing — Jeno has no exact idea of how that advanced student life works, never got interested in it when his main focus was straight up finishing school and help his mother.

He settles on the floor, too taken in his research to wait and decently sit at a table as every other person in the library is doing. Jeno is not too hopeful, this book might be the first one of other many he’s going to flip through the pages. He opts for the 19th century, a haphazard choice coming from the scenes he saw whenever he ended up touching the museum paintings, risking his whole job. He’s holding a particularly old book, yellow pages heavy and clammy with its noise, Jeno afraid he’d break one of those just by flipping through it as delicately as he can. He holds the edge of one page between his fingers to read.

“Your Royal Highness, excuse my boldness, I couldn’t help but notice you’re keen on dancing”. 

Jeno distracts from the fresco’s beauty entering another room of the duke’s palace. He glances at the man, time for a glimpse before his eyes trail back to the painted sky. Interesting news is to see the prince visiting the duke, again after their first few encounters. Might be the easily appealing company, bold questions asked so gently to a prince as he is he can’t mind to be bothered by them. He finds them fascinating, lighthearted when pronounced by that tender, deft voice.

“I am, dancing is a great form of privity”. He walks towards the room’s center, light wood of a piano under his digits, a vase holding a few white roses. Jeno recognizes them from the path he looked at from his carriage earlier, pure in that sheer color. “You should try, your grace. I didn’t see you dance once at the ball”.

“I’m willing to dance privately, I don’t promise a great performance”. The duke moves closer to his standing frame, Jeno’s breath itching from the hand resting next to his to the piano’s surface. “Albeit unusual is to see two men joining in a dance”.

Jaemin sure has a sharp taste for flustering him, the suggestion shivering his closing lashes as he glances down their hands. “Your grace, are you concerned in music? Or is this your brother’s room?”

Jeno’s veins color in glass like green under his thin pale skin, turning to the duke sitting on the piano bench, his finger hooking for a second to Jeno’s one as he takes place. He glances up, flowers could wither or bloom with that burning gaze fixing on him.

“This is my personal music room”. 

Jeno’s heart pounds violently in his throat, the hold weaker on the book, taking out a shaky breath as he finds the Na dynasty. There’s a sign specifically denoting to not take pictures inside the library, and Jeno has to memorize as much as he can before leaving, regretting not taking with him a notebook. He asks around for a pen and a piece of paper, bending to a shelf to write.

A duke from a small land, Jeno soon finds his surname tied to a different kingdom as he keeps looking for more information, having to stop at the hectic twisting in his stomach. There are no pictures or painting references, there’s no chance those people actually look like them; Jeno might only see the prince as himself and the duke as Jaemin without really being them, for all he knows.

Jeno is sure these people exist now, they have a connection, and if Jeno and Jaemin are fated carriers of those memories he can live with it. He gets out of the library, still securing a scarf around his neck walking fast steps as he bumps into the teacher, seeing a past image of them in the same music room he saw before. 

Jaemin grins at him, and Jeno has to gape when he sees a snowflake falling and melting to the man’s cheek. Jeno is taken aback by the painful weak shriek Jaemin makes, rushing to hold him before he falls to the rough asphalt. He’s not the only one to suffer or get dizzy, and Jeno feels awkward not knowing what to do exactly with him. Jaemin is a stranger, yet he doesn’t perceive him as such. 

Jeno holds his cheek with a hand, snow falling thicker and before he has the chance to take in Jaemin’s tears he’s also crying, shaking as he tries to keep Jaemin in his arms, both slowly bending to the ground. His eyes are wide from the silent tears unconsciously falling, and there’s an unbearable pain sharp in his chest, making him let out a sob.

“Jeno”. Jaemin whispers, freezing with his hair welcoming thick snowflakes between the caramel strands, he nods as he repeats his name and tries to get them up. He says his name again, weaker, and Jeno is worried. “I don’t think we should touch, it hurts”. 

“Are you okay?”. Jeno detaches, observing Jaemin who seems able to keep it up on his feet. He takes the chance to dry his stained wet cheeks, icy against his skin with the sudden temperature drop and the absurd increase of snow for a weather completely unfitting. 

“Why does it hurt?”. Jaemin answers with another question, one Jeno unfortunately can’t answer. Or he can, the only thing the man in front of him can do is believe they both are crazy at this point, anything Jeno says is more reasonable than whatever is unfolding between them.

“I need to get to work. I only have a vague, mostly incorrect answer to your question”.

“Do you need company?”. Jaemin’s cheeks are of a bright pink color, fixing his jacket with shaky fingers. “I mean, you have to stay on that chair for long, don’t you?”.

Jaemin does keep him company. It’s unprofessional, Jeno knows, albeit today isn’t crowded and there’s only him guarding the room, Dejun probably having an evening off or he’s somewhere else in the immense museum. A couple of bodies passing every amount of indefinite minutes stop and stare at displayed art breaking with their steps the same long silence for hours. 

They whisper, and Jeno learns more about this man that might not feel like a stranger, however he is. Jaemin Na is a figurative arts teacher, new at the academy and moving to the city for an indispensable offer, as he tells Jeno. Coming from another academy of fine arts he worked at for years, Jaemin traveled for long to be here, honoured to be teaching at another art academy, claiming he’s now closer to a significant part of his relatives; in number he says, not in any affectionate manner. 

Jeno is foolish to think fate noticed Jaemin was close to him, and he dares to ask how long it has been since he moved. The time coincides with Jeno’s starting of this job, he wants to deliriously laugh when he says it.

A strong seethe he feels standing close to Jaemin, shoulders close, not touching. Any contact hurts or brings them vivid dreams, and they both avoid it when reality speaks clearly. If they want to know more about themselves, they’ll eventually have to let a hand stroke the other, as their hands did and their tears fell in the square. He can’t reasonably explain what happened.

Jeno clears things out, asking directly. Jaemin is hesitant, dragging out a sheepish call of his name as prince Jeno. He tells him this is what he sees, and it matches with Jeno. The man says he has different memories after Jeno tries to retell some of his with what he can remember, although the places follow a common line. Same music room described similarly to how Jeno sees it, palaces, ballrooms of parties they attended.

“I find it hard to believe in these things”. Jaemin fumbles with his hands, skin ruined around his slim fingers. 

“Then explain how I dreamed of you the same way you did of me”. Jeno watches Jaemin smile as he looks down, lips glossy with chapstick pressing together.

“Excuse my imprudence, I would have dreamed of you even if I met you in other circumstances”. 

Jeno flushes, not expecting at all that flattering attack. He gapes a few times trying to say something back, hearing the soft chuckle the man makes, completely out of tune with the dashing words coming out of his mouth. He’s also flushing at the way duke Jaemin would say something similar, they’re made of the same appeal.

“What about the snow? It sounds egocentric to say but I think it has to do with us, the first time we met it started snowing as well”.

“Jeno, it’s winter. That’s my only reasonable explanation”.

“There’s really a duke with your surname and a royal dynasty with mine”. Jeno admits, staring at the empty museum room. His words sound loud, feels the weight of Jaemin’s eyes staring at him. Jeno wearing down with the man’s presence alone. “I spent all morning looking for a piece of evidence, I’m surprised myself”.

Jeno rummages in his pocket to get out the crumpled piece of paper, some notes he took from the book and gives it to Jaemin. If he doesn’t believe it he can go and check himself, Jeno tells him, and the other is shaking his head slowly.

“I believe you”. Jaemin turns to him, blushing, and Jeno is endeared by those sparkly eyes bringing golden that makes the paintings frames disfigure. “If these people were really us, then what are we doing together in this century?”.

Jeno smiles, an odd urge to cry he can’t explain. “I think it’s up to us to find out”.

They both stare at the paintings in silence, Jeno unable to erase that stupid lift of his lips staying there the whole time, a giddy tension in his body. He wonders if he should ask Jaemin for a coffee, the staff break room is not the best place but Jeno has limited options if he’s at work. Or he could simply ask Jaemin out, have his phone number as regular people who don’t get transported in memories of a past life whenever they touch do.

“Did you see anything before? When you were hurting”. Jeno whispers, afraid to break the silence and there’s nothing he can do once he does.

“No, it felt like a blackout. It was painful, my chest…”. Jeno turns to Jaemin touching the spot right under his left collarbone, fingers curling to the fabric of his shirt. “I couldn’t breathe”.

“What else do you see?”. 

Jaemin curves his cheeks, focusing on a painting as a sly smile breaks through his features.

“It’s a secret”.

“That’s not very fair, Jaemin”. Jeno can’t avoid the small pout he makes, and Jaemin lets out an airy laugh, low and gentle, unable to disturb the quiet. Actually it brightens the evening, sounding like a warm summer breeze, the ones you anticipate when spring knocks at winter’s doors. The joy of a blooming flower after months of bare trees.

“You don’t have to tell me what you see, so we’re even”.

“Fine”. Jeno sighs, still grinning at himself and it looks stupid. “Do you perhaps play the piano?”.

“Since I was five”.

Jeno’s heart beats stupidly fast gathering that piece of information. He ponders how many similarities the duke and this Jaemin have, leaving him to question himself if the man sees something similar from the memories of him as a prince and who he is today.

“Can you play the new piece for me?”. He lights up a candle in the dark room, moving it on the smooth surface of the piano to illuminate the darkening space with clouds progressively hoarding in grey.

Jeno smiles sitting in the Duke’s lap, preening at the fingers tracing his jaw, head turned to the pouring rain falling. Words ready to be whispered in the cathartic space rescuing them from a barely begun storm. Lashes fluttering with a speeding chest.

“I’d do anything for you”.

Jeno leaves a sweet sigh at those enchanting lips mapping the space of his jaw, fingers not letting go of the duke’s shoulders, his spine arching to the contact. Burning kisses for eyes in a wildfire opening to quick noses leaning in a painless crash and kisses louder than the pouring rain outside. Hands sneaking under his pantaloons, a gasp echoing more than the keys played accidentally.

“I traveled all the way here for you, Jeno”. Jaemin dips his fingers in the skin of his inner thighs, breath falling in the small dimple of his cupid’s bow looking for a pool of warm brown staring at him in desire. “A heart devoted, haunted to charm a prince”.

“There’s no haunting”. Jeno says, panting. “Not if I was yours already”.

Jeno shoots his eyes open, gasping awake. No piano room, he’s in his bedroom, stirring in the white bedsheets as he traces his lips. He checks his phone, a few hours of sleep left but his body is not an ounce tired. Snow still covers the streets from his window, an expanse of white tempting to curl in bed and do nothing all day. Jeno still feels the touches, clenching in his own shivering body at the thought. Somehow his brain is convincing him centuries ago he and Jaemin were really doing that in the palace on a rainy day.

Did Jaemin see something similar to this dream? Jeno keeps asking himself staring blankly at the museum room, Donghyuck giving him a double look where he’s giving the tourists a few extra minutes they asked to look at a painting, turning to them with a fixed smile when a lady asks a curious question.

His uneventful day takes a twist at its end when Doyoung runs after him as he’s exiting the museum, dark sky of late evening he sees from the glass door of the box-office and the gentle voice calling his name. He smiles at the friendly man, holding the brochure of one the newest exhibits of the museum, giving it to Jeno.

“A guy asked for you during your break, and I couldn’t find you so”. He points where a number is readably scribbled in the space where the printed paper is immaculate. “The perks of being handsome, I think you scored a possible date”.

Jeno reads Jaemin’s name with a small dart, giving Doyoung a sarcastic, pointed look. He doesn’t dare to explain, or else the whole staff is going to find a way to give him days off work, the man is an influential and respected presence, there’s not a soul who doesn’t listen to him inside these walls. Even the ruthless ones like Donghyuck restrain from annoying Doyoung. 

“It’s one of the academy teachers”. Jeno shakes his head with a sheepish grin, keeping the paper in hand.

“And?”. Doyoung leans with an amiable bump of hip to him. 

“And I’m going to find out why he left his number to you”. 

“Mh, I’m sure he just wants a date. Man looked handsome, you should accept”.

“I don’t even know him and you’re already talking about a date”. 

“Isn’t it the exact reason why people date? You’re supposed to not know him”.

Jeno laughs mildly, waving goodbye after some other teasing words. He gets the paper out to save the number once he’s sitting comfortably in a miraculously empty wagon of the subway, only a couple of people ignoring his existence with headphones or flipping books pages. He traces his thumb over the dry black ink of a sharpie.

“Follow my steps”. Jaemin looks at him, biting the inside of his cheeks as he climbs down the tangle of sheets, quickly fixing his robe holding Jeno’s hands. His feet hit on the cabriole legs chair decorated in light blue embroidery against white, letting out an airy laugh. Jeno can tell he’s nervous, rethinking the non sense of proposing him to dance without music.

There’s nowhere else they can be but his residence, bed frame of light wooden left undone to fresh warmth still seeping in the fabrics, sleep in eyes full of mirth as Jaemin stares at their bare feet flattening to the soft carpet. His palm threads under the silky robe to find Jaemin’s warm waist, guiding his hands to join and bend in a right position to dance.

His lashes are long, dark webs closing with a gentle smile whenever Jeno leans too close, rosy cheeks at the brief contact of lips and the duke finally unarmed of his sharp charms or comfortable situations to manage with a confident look. A trusting duke, robe slipping down his shoulders for Jeno to kiss him where his left collarbone is, timid morning light peeking at their tangled bodies joining in a deaf swinging.

There’s a knock on the door startling Jaemin, jumping on his feet with alarmed eyes. Jeno combs his mussy black hair, a small peck at the tip of his nose.

“It’s my alderman, no need to worry”.

“I’m supposed to protect you, Jeno. This is dangerous”.

Jeno frames his cheeks, sleep still clinging to shake from their heavy eyes, Jaemin’s forehead sticking to his. “I’m not renouncing on us”. He whispers, fingers quick to cover his exposed body filled with goosebumps, a caring stroke of the duke’s cheek before he walks to his bedroom’s door.

“Jeno?”

“Hello?”. Jeno blinks repeatedly, checking the subway’s stop. He’s almost home, and there’s a vibrant voice in question, calling for his name again.

“Jaemin? Hi. Yes, it’s me, Jeno”. He chuckles sheepishly, still immersed in the vision he just had. Happy, a nostalgic happiness he would like to grasp again now it’s over. “I was, uhm, somewhere else”.

“Oh? So suddenly?”. The metallic voice asks, incredibly sweet and Jeno’s stomach closes in a funny twist. He shouldn’t mix the beautiful emotions he sees between those two people who look like them with the reality he’s currently living, Jeno needs to remind himself to avoid being rash towards Jaemin. Making him uncomfortable is the last thing he wants or needs. 

Jeno is glad he’s finally exiting the subway, he can speak more freely after asking Jaemin to wait a few seconds. “I touched the ink where you wrote your number and I wasn’t here anymore for a while”.

“What did you see?”.

“It’s a secret”. Jeno makes a sly smile Jaemin can’t obviously see, figuring he can get an inkling of it from his satisfied tone. 

“I have an idea”. Jaemin says after chuckling back at his answer, sweet and deep. He doubts the man can sound any less than a blessing for ears used to find the daily city chaos. “It’s easier to share secrets with a drink in hand, don’t you think?”.

“It might”. Jeno presses his lips, hard not to smile at the phone without looking a complete fool as he walks to his apartment block. “I know a place”.

Jeno laughs briefly as they both order virgin drinks, caught cheating. Or more honestly, caught being responsible adults when they both have to work the next day. Jeno had the time to eat something quickly and shower before coming to this impromptu confidential meeting, and how long they’re going to stay in the dimmed lights bar depends solely on them.

He highly doubts this is a date, if they were lovers in a past life doesn’t mean they have to be as well in this one. Jeno worries fate doesn’t want them united, not when touching Jaemin hurt last time. They promise they’ll get a bitter shot together later, just one to ease their consciences. He nibbles at the straw, cold glass freezing his hand. 

It’s been a while since Jeno last went out to drink, sometimes Donghyuck suggested they should but they always opted for a quick dinner after work instead, something easy to come back home from. Alcohol always made Jeno sleepy, except this time he’s too greedy to share, and more than that, to hear Jaemin’s dreams. 

They’re sitting at a booth of a familiar bar he used to visit when he recently moved. The bartender, Chenle, was one of the first friendly people he met in the area; when you feel alone you tend to come where there’s the tiniest sparkle of human warmth welcoming you, it was the exact case for Jeno. Chenle is nice, only a year younger than him and he seems he’s lived three more lives than anyone else and for all he knows now, he might have.

“In one of my dreams, visions or memories, I’m not sure”. Jeno says, confidently addressing what these things could be. “You-”. He clears his throat, taking a timid sip of his drink avoiding Jaemin’s gaze. “I mean the duke, it seems he comes from somewhere else”.

“He does”. Jaemin bites his bottom lip, looking up for a moment. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”.

“Not if you’re uncomfortable”. Jeno turns the drink in his hands, glass smearing melting ice on the glass table. “It makes me feel better to know it’s not just me seeing these things”.

They share a long stare, Jaemin stirs his drink with the straw. “I, the duke, however we want to say it, came to the prince’s land for a reason. I guess you never saw it. I like to believe they’re memories, and this one belongs personally to the duke”.

“I only saw us together so far, but every emotion that belongs to these memories, it’s like they’re my own. I just see how the prince feels, hear his thoughts”. He folds his arms bending to the side, resting his cheek. “Why did the duke come all the way to the prince’s land?”.

“Infatuation”. Jaemin says, an ounce lower, looking sheepish to admit it. As if it is his own confession, and Jeno reacts in the same way according to that odd shield they can hide behind. It’s not really them, not who they are to each other now, there’s no need to keep secrets. They have to expose them, necessary to uncover them slowly — if needed, to understand. “Well, along with a fondness for the country and the prince’s family”.

“I didn’t see any princess in my dreams”. Jeno mumbles, Jaemin shrugging his shoulders with an amused scoff, lifting an eyebrow.

“We both know there’s no princess in this story”. They look down, breaking eye contact. 

“The duke’s family, what remains of it with his younger brother and their mother, received some paintings as gifts from the royal family. Can you guess which painting caught his attention?”.

“Do you think that painting still exists somewhere?”. He asks instead.

“Probably it does, it might just not look like you, I don’t doubt those people existed”. Jaemin takes a good look at him, a displaced fondness flashing in his eyes, the same kind Jeno feels when he comes back to the present from those memories. “In my mind you look exactly like him, it’s astonishing”.

“You too”. Jeno can’t look at Jaemin with the words automatically forming inside his head, tracing a finger to the glass border in an attempt to escape his burning cheeks. “I apologize in advance”. He shakes his head, taking a breath before he can say anything. “Is your taste the same as the duke?”.

“Are you asking me if I like men, Jeno?”. Jaemin smiles, those witty features moving confidently as Jeno struggles to keep up with his questions. If this man wasn’t the weirdest encounter he’s ever had in his life Jeno would never dare to ask. At least not as he’s doing.

“I’m sorry, it’s none of my business-”.

“I do”. Another sip of his colorful drink. Jeno makes an awkward chuckle, wrist pressing to his forehead.

“I need actual alcohol for this, I can’t do it”. They both laugh, gladly despite the bar almost empty in the middle of the week, there's nice music covering their conversation to the point where no one can capture it unless they get close to their booth.

“Do you? Or is it only Prince Jeno?”.

Jeno turns, slightly bending his head to avoid Jaemin in a useless attempt. There’s nowhere else he wants to be, he’s glad they’re talking and didn’t freak out the first time they met. “We do share the same taste”.

Jeno sees Jaemin keeping that dazzling smile, too late before he realizes he’s reciprocating it. 

“What?”. He fakes annoyance, the other sipping his drink looking lively directly at him.

“I said nothing”.

“I think I get why you didn’t want to tell me your memories”. Jeno holds his burning neck with hands freezing, feeling the heat spreading and cooling at the same time. “I recently saw how intimately close the duke and the prince were”.

“They looked happy”. Jaemin moves a hand around his chest, vaguely trying to convey his words. “I feel this happiness whenever I dream of them. As you said, like they’re my own feelings”.

They leave past lives for a while, falling easily into conversations. Jaemin’s current life, where he’s staying in the city, the fondness he harbours for his students. Jeno sees a great person; Jaemin sounds of kindness, truly a good heart. Someone he can’t stop talking to, both eager to speak, to listen to the other. Jeno likes to believe he’s a great listener, and Jaemin’s voice is just the perfect kind of soft telling him all these things of a life he wants to know, one that matters more than his vivid dreams.

As they get out of the bar, before parting ways, Jeno can tell the slight tension between them. It’s confusing, feeling attached to a stranger so heavily your body reacts according to it, not giving time to realize he’s just learning who Jaemin is. They stand in front of the other, a foolish smile trying to find the appropriate words to say or the next move to make.

“Should we?”. Jaemin tries to open his arms in what seems a request for a hug, a brief one to say goodbye at least for now, and Jeno steps closer to get that embrace. 

“Jeno!”. Jaemin laughs, eyes squeezed and chest rambling against his sternum in its lively beauty. The familiar sound of another happy morning, tickling the duke’s smooth skin soaking warmth from the sheets. He latches his lips to the man’s neck, pale and inviting where he can’t leave a mark. They’re allowed to leave traces of their prohibited love only where clothes can reach and cover, laughing with the duke when he pulls him closer by his hips, legs straddling his body relaxed to the mattress. 

There’s a languid kiss when his hips sink right where the duke’s hand softly pushes him down, gulping a sigh against his lips shaping according to that churning melting of two tongues tired of escaping in the public’s eye.

Jeno’s palm opening to Jaemin’s spine is freezing in the night’s air, detaching from Jaemin and he has the same wide eyed look. He’s too close, and can see perfectly the tiny scraping of chapped lips by the weather, the texture of his skin. None of them is breaking that hug, now more a loose hold where they look too shocked to say anything. Is it possible they might have seen the same thing?

“Are you ticklish?”. Jeno asks, flushing as he frowns his eyebrows.

“You-”. Jaemin blinks a few times, the hands holding Jeno’s hips so delicate he can’t feel the press with his jacket muffling it. “You saw that?”.

“If you also were in bed with me and, we, we were-”.

“Kissing, right?”. 

“Yeah, kissing”. They properly pull, spotting Jaemin’s red face. Great, they’re on the same page with that. 

“It happens often, I see a lot of those memories”. Jaemin hides his hands in the jacket’s pockets, not surprised anymore to see snow falling up their heads.

“I guess they really liked each other”. Jeno points up at the sky, that is a clever way to change the topic. “Still think it’s a coincidence?”.

“No, the snow might be caused by us at this point, I don’t know what else to believe”. Jaemin chuckles, as Jeno rubs his hands together from the cold. “Why are we meeting again? In this life”. Jaemin grimaces, keeping up with the incredulous chuckles. “Saying it out loud doesn’t sound right”.

Jeno doesn’t smile, seeing again blood on his hands, his jaw trembling with how real it is. He shares a panicked look with Jaemin, opening his palms in front of him. “Do you see it?”.

“No, what am I supposed to see?”. Jaemin steps closer, Jeno’s hands in a ill trembling.

“Blood, there’s blood on my hands-”. Jaemin holds his fingers and it disappears, faster than a snap of digits. Waking up from those terrible hallucinations. “It’s gone”.

Jaemin winces, his face frowning in pain for a moment, as he’s trying to hold it back. “Does the book you found mention how the duke died?”.

“I don’t- no, I… Jaemin”. Jeno sees the man press his forehead against his shoulder, sobbing. He tries to soothe his back, pulls him closer. “Hey, it’s okay”.

“I can’t see anything, it hurts”. Jaemin sobs, gripping at his middle in pain. He sees the teacher’s knees give in and he tries to lift him up seeing a bench close to them, walking there so he can have him take a seat. Jaemin keeps crying, and Jeno hugs him all the time, luckily to someone else’s eyes this doesn’t look too bad. Snow is falling thick and faster than all the previous times it happened, worried for how they’re both going to get back home safely.

“How old are you, Jeno?”. Jaemin whines, sobbing with nails digging at the same spot under his collarbone he already pointed out days ago, and Jeno tries to replace it with his hand, soothing the spot. 

“Twenty-seven, why?”. Jaemin stops whining in pain, only a rushed breathing stuttering from time to time.

“We’re nine years older than them”. Jaemin takes Jeno’s hand, gaping with his painful breathing and he tries to unzip his jacket. “Could you? Sorry, it’s weird, I know but it feels better if you touch it”.

Jeno threads his hand under the jacket, feels the fabric of Jaemin’s thin sweater and he sighs evidently relieved, blowing big puffs of air as he shuts his eyes. “God, better. I feel better”.

He doesn’t care, seeing Jaemin picking a healthy breathing pattern makes him feel better as well, hand playing with his caramel strands as he keeps rubbing gently his palm to that spot of Jaemin’s chest, trying to look at his face to check on him.

“I know they’re younger, you told me your age in one of my dreams”. Jaemin rests his head to Jeno’s chest, teeth chattering with the cold temperatures of the night and the snow candidly against their jackets. “Your hands bleed, I feel this impossible pain and I can’t see a thing”.

“You think the duke died too young and for some reason the prince was there?”.

Jeno’s hand twitches with a cold shivering, accidentally hooking a few fingers under Jaemin’s v neck of the sweater and the other makes a pleased noise, attaching his hand on top of his. 

“It doesn’t hurt anymore like this”. He keeps pressing Jeno’s hand, and he asks for consent before slipping his fingers properly to his heated skin, Jaemin fluttering his lashes shut.

“Do you think I killed you?”.

“Yes, and no”. Jaemin traces a thumb on Jeno’s hand pressed to his chest, another relaxed sound. “You wouldn’t have done it, you said-”. He stops, soothing Jeno’s hand nestling on his shoulder.

“Please Jaemin, tell me what you saw. I have nothing useful for us but if you do, even if I’m a complete stranger you can trust me”.

“You said you would have died with me rather than giving up on us”. Jaemin keeps holding his hand, and Jeno’s stays tangled in his hair. It’s getting colder but their closeness ignites in his chest what he hopes Jaemin can feel as well. A flow of warm water under the sea, when you’re reaching the surface and sun makes it sparkle where your eyes open in a glimpse of golden meeting a fascinating transparent weight, about to break it coming out for air. 

“He must have really loved you”. Jeno glances down and meets Jaemin’s eyes, something lenient he can’t describe. 

“He did”. Jaemin sits properly, tries to detach Jeno’s hand from his chest to see if he really doesn’t hurt anymore. “I never had a reason to believe in fate. I think I’m starting to now”.

Jeno realizes he’s still combing his fingers through Jaemin’s hair, withdrawing the hand back in his lap. The man doesn’t seem to be in pain, Jeno genuinely is scared he would start wincing and crying again. They both face the increasing snow, if they keep staying next to each other in a few hours the whole city is going to be covered in white.

“Maybe we could keep seeing each other”. Jeno suggests, folding arms to his chest. “I don’t expect to have a grand love like those people who awfully look like us. We could be friends, find out why fate, if it is the reason behind all of this, wants us close again”.

“It sounds the craziest second chance anyone could get”. Jaemin smiles, refusing Jeno’s hand to stand up and he gets it, they don’t really want to experience the past minutes in the same way.

“We should head home, maybe it’s going to stop snowing”.

“We need to figure this out”. Jaemin starts nipping at his bottom lip in an amused grin. 

Jeno wonders if it's the right season for yarrow flowers to be growing, spotting them blooming between the thin snow as he finds his way back home after parting ways with Jaemin. Those weren’t there before, if anything he’s unsure of all he sees since he met that handsome art teacher.

The unusual weather is a great motive of discussion in the staff room, Donghyuck checking the previous days of the forecast and keeps complaining how the drastic changes make no sense. With a cheap coffee in hand they never pay, thanking the small usb Donghyuck secured by flirting with the dispenser of their vending machines, he mentions how his flowers are getting ruined and he has to keep them inside when he never had to before. 

Jeno totally forgot about his colleague’s passion for botany, ending up asking about the yarrows he saw. All Donghyuck does is scoff and tell him that of course it's not the right season, typing aggressively to his phone looking for some good remedies to protect his plants.

He sighs, stirring the watery tea in his cup as he presses his lips in a smile at Jaemin texting him. The teacher is at the academy sending messages between classes, and they’re trying to meet briefly for a walk around the square at their lunch break. It luckily coincides, and Jeno is anticipating it more than he should, checking the time frequently. 

“Your Royal Highness, did you hear the news?”. 

Jeno turns to his alderman, wide sparkly eyes when he gives a funny scowl his way. “Mark, when my father is not around you can call me Jeno”.

The gardens of the palace are brightened by the gleaming sun on a fine morning, saturating in a carnival of colors. The beauty of sunny days in the winter season, gifting warmer hours to stroll in the wide fields that are caging to a royal soul who grew up around them. Wide space where he was taught rigid rules and skills since a premature age, immense spaces that hold boundaries he’s not truly allowed to cross, unless there’s a party involved or some occasional visits to dear friendships. Some more intimate than others.

“I did not, I’m not one for gossip”. He bends to pick up a yarrow flower in his hands, no one would be mad at the prince if he does. He twirls the stem of white petals between his digits, nose dipping to inhale the nice fragrance.

“The duke said he has a muse and his passion belongs more to them than to music”. Mark smiles, hands linked behind his back as they keep walking side by side, pebble creaking under their shoes. “Poor countess of the Ainsley’s family, she almost fainted hearing those words when she proposed her daughter to dance with him. It happened yesterday, at the ball you decided to not attend”.

“Maybe lady Ainsley didn’t want to dance and the duke said that foolishness”. Jeno pursues his lips, cheeks pinking guiltily in late morning daylight. 

“With a young and unmarried duke? Only a loon wouldn't take the chance”. Mark fixes his already impeccable posture with a side glance, the royal palace splendidly prominent with its endless rooms and conserved secrets from the past. Jeno builds a recent one inside the walls of his room for hopefully a better future, where admitting he’s the reason behind the duke’s refusal doesn’t sound as frightening. “I might wonder who the duke’s muse resembles, if their profile wasn’t right in front of my eyes”.

Jeno faces him, gasping as he mildly shakes his head in confusion. His alderman’s eyes are kind, not a trace of distaste and soon they keep walking, Jeno’s legs trembling.

“I never saw anything as pure”. 

“They would name it a sin”. 

“Do you love him, your Royal Highness?”. Mark holds his gaze, cheeks and clothes heating up with the rising sun. A vast expanse of green and air to disperse a confession, Jeno is tired of holding it back. How can he hold it back once asked so freely.

“My heart beats for him”. Jeno says, voice low, as quiet as you share your deepest want. The longing you can’t say out loud, the one undermining for so long in your bones and organs it finds a permanent spot. Disintegrate your soul to nothing rather than losing it.

“And how could love be a sin?”. 

“It’s not a sin but they surely faced some complications”. Jeno regrets ordering a salad, pieces of chicken ended leaving him to a mass of green he has to chug down with water. Jaemin gives him a piece of bread, a lingering look asking if he’s okay. Jeno is not sure how long it took him to answer, too lost in a memory clicked just for touching the same water bottle staying between their table at the place they decided to have lunch.

At least he doesn’t have to explain why he keeps spacing out, Jaemin does as well. Sometimes they share, in other moments it gets harder, depending on the nature of the memory. They have a hard time admitting they saw each other kissing, holding and seeing them intimately in ways that shamefully cover some uneasy moments. Looking back at those images while staying right in front of him is not exactly ideal, realizing they’re holding to the other’s hand as they walk, humbling when he has to apologize.

It all led to making a deal. When it comes to lives further or things bigger than what they currently are, there’s no need to apologize. 

“Who? People who order salads?”. Jaemin makes a funny face, lifting his eyebrow.

“What?”. 

“I said it’s a sin to order a salad when you have so much choice”. Jaemin giggles, contagiously it makes Jeno smile. Thankfully the other is good at bringing in a light atmosphere, he often would drown in embarrassment if it isn’t for Jaemin proceeding as if nothing has happened. From that alone, he can tell he’s a great teacher.

“You’re right, it’s so cold and my stomach is messed up now”.

“Leave it. By the way, I’m paying today”. Jaemin grabs Jeno’s wallet resting untouched all the time they’ve been eating on the table, and he tries to get it back.

“No way, I’m paying for my unfinished salad”. He pulls the wallet back to his side of the table.

“It’s immoral to pay for grass, Jeno”. 

“Then let me serve my time, Jaemin”. He answers with the same teasing tone as their fingers graze from the small space of the wallet leather they’re holding.

The music room’s love seat is soaked with sweat, white darkening under cold heavy breaths, humid skin sticking with each languid movement. A name whispered in a sigh far from amity, eyes shut to freezing fingers stuck in the duke’s hair. Palms spread at his lower back, another sinking of his body where the duke meets him leaving a blown noise echoing in the palace made of high ceilings. 

Jaemin’s mouth is gaping, eyes reassuring when Jeno bites harshly on his lips in pleasure, digging his palm framing the soft cheek to moan against the duke’s open lips. A mouth gentle to meet his back, careful to give soothing wet kisses more intoxicating than the sloppy sounds of their union. 

Jaemin’s hold on the wallet weakens and it drops on the floor, him bending immediately to avoid looking at Jaemin. He caught only a short glance of him to know he saw the same, and there’s no way he’s going to talk about it. His hand is sweaty recollecting the dark brown wallet.

Jaemin clears his throat, grabbing the glass of water hiding his face behind it. Jeno would like to tell the duke and the prince to tone it down with those sultry memories. He gets it, they were in love and it’s such beautiful news, but Jeno has to deal with a version of the duke in this present to which he doesn’t have the same kind of relationship. And it’s getting out of hand with how frequently he sees them — and how many variants there are of those memories. 

“I’m sorry”. He says, for no reason, it just comes out before he can think.

“It’s not your fault”. Jaemin grins, cheekily biting his bottom lip. “Well, at least I know why they sure were never bored”.

“I swear I don’t want to see you naked so randomly, this is-”. Jeno makes an exasperated sound, face flushing. “Yeah, good for them”.

There’s nothing else they can do but laugh at their situation, and fate really likes to play with their present by showing what they were. Easy to shove memories of people who had different reasons to be this infatuated, different backgrounds Jeno and Jaemin will never know completely. The man is the most pleasant company he has to spend lunch breaks, aware these aren’t dates. It seems so distant even imagining being caught with his skin and all that passion he can feel and yet it doesn’t completely belong to him. He wonders if those insistent memories mean anything at all.

His coworkers notice, some more excited about seeing Jaemin lingering at the entrance or actually visiting the museum too frequently. Jeno knows Doyoung lets him in by skipping the line, and is prepared to face questions that will definitely arrive at some point. Snow keeps falling, everyone talking about it everywhere Jeno moves, always tempted to apologize for the inconvenience until he realizes how crazy he’d sound.

And snow keeps covering the city as they get to know each other. One late evening Jaemin knocks at his door, planning to go out but it seems there might be a storm, a weather warning from his tv when he watches the freezing man walking inside his apartment. They’re both already dressed up to go out, Jeno gesturing to the fireplace so Jaemin can warm up, unsure of what they should do in his shoebox of an apartment.

He decides to make them tea, a good icebreaker. With all meanings, Jaemin has chattering teeth and sticks to the fireplace like glue does on paper, kneeling to the carpet. He looks grateful, taking a mug in his hands, smiling kindly at Jeno. He sits on the couch, and Jaemin seems to be fine lingering there, turning the colorful ceramic in his hands.

“What should we do now?”. Jeno asks, unable to keep up with the small talk they set in the next minutes, afraid he might run out of things he can say. He doesn’t feel uncomfortable around Jaemin, he’s only slightly flustered at the idea of being completely surrounded by his house silence. There’s nothing external they can shift the conversation to, not a small distraction of life happening outside. It’s them, this small set of walls making him feel closer than he’s ever been these past weeks to Jaemin.

Good weeks they were. Jaemin is nice, has a bright mind and personality, and is someone calmer like Jeno tends to follow. He memorized a few frequent names of the teachers of the academy, or some students Jaemin particularly gushes about with their amazing works. He sometimes takes pictures or videos of the paintings to show Jeno, concentrating often more on Jaemin's proud smiles than the art itself. 

Jaemin stands up to sit next to Jeno, the couch slightly going down with his weight. The forecast on the tv announces another warning, highly suggesting everyone to stay in their homes tonight. It predicts an important snow storm coming. He opens his palm, a tiny lifting of his mouth in a smile.

“I don’t want you to suffer”. Jeno hesitates, staring at the opened hand between them. 

“It’s okay, hold it”. Jaemin rests his shoulder against the couch seatback. “This is the best way to know more”.

“It’s beautiful”. The prince breaks his concentrated face to the melody in a smile once the piece is over, staring at the satisfied pianist bowing his head reciprocating that same gleam. A duke enthusiast of music, who avoids balls with a passion and isn’t too fond of dancing. Yet nothing compromises his beautifully skilled fingers, playing a song he deems his.

Jeno is impressed, from the loveseat of the music room where Jaemin invited him to sit, another friendly encounter where Jeno had the coachman bring him to the duke’s palace. And friendships like theirs are a delight to noblemen ears, and without going too further, to servanthood. The same that served them tea in another room of the palace earlier in his visit, seeing frequently kind smiles turned his way. Everyone is thrilled at the idea of Prince Jeno visiting, and curiosity fills the air when the two men meet behind closed doors.

A music room, despite the passion of the discipline itself, isn’t of any scandal. Jeno says it’s his favorite room of the palace, and the duke can’t refuse any of the prince's requests, making sure they always spend some good hours privately.

“You really composed this yourself, your Grace?”.

“My fingers played what somebody else helped me create”. Jaemin traces his fingers through the keys, some thin dust caught in between. “It’s you, Jeno”.

He stands up, and Jeno follows him until the duke sits next to him on the loveseat, holding his hand. Jeno gladly accepts, he’s been dreaming of it for some time now whenever he comes near. Daunting thoughts of the duke filling his head, shamelessly forming in his mind before he can tame them. Strong, making his skin shiver as it does once he touches the prohibited.

“Everything you do, Jeno, is music. When your steps echo as you walk in this room and at the ball, right after I first saw you. When you lower your gaze in a smile, exactly like you’re doing right now”. 

Jaemin leans to the prince’s shy grin, flattered with a speeding heart at each word.

“You are keys and melodies in my head, the ones that make me burn with the need to hear them again, remember that distant sound that grows louder once you are here in front of me”. 

Jeno looks up, taking Jaemin’s hand in both of his, tilting his head. “You give my heart poetry, Jeno. And poetry sets you free, relieves a heart that has been looking for too long, finally finding its place. Here, next to you”.

“And every muse needs its form of art to express”. Jeno frames Jaemin’s face, he has no doubts left for him to not press his lips to the duke’s ones. There’s a ray of sun showing the silky black hair he intertwines in his fingers, soft pressure stealing his breath for the first time his mouth gets parted by a tongue that’s not his, shoulders moving forward where the duke holds his waist.

“Jeno”. Jaemin whispers, gritted teeth as he shuts his eyes in pain. Jeno tells him it is okay, moving the man in his arms, Jaemin’s slim fingers circling around his wrist. “Please”.

“Jaemin, take deep breaths, focus on your breathing”. Jeno threads an unfortunately cold hand under the man’s shirt, reaches the same space under his collarbone that always hurts when it’s them purposefully looking for memories, bare contact immediately relieving him. At least they know how to make it stop, if temporarily.

“Sometimes it used to hurt even before moving here”. Jaemin admits, and there’s no shame when Jeno guides him to sit on his lap, close together in the corner of the couch. It’s easier for him to keep that soothing hand around Jaemin’s chest, and it gets impossibly warm when Jaemin curls on his shoulder. “You’re the key to make it stop, I’m sure. We’re not together so you can hurt me”.

“And that’s the last thing I want to do”. 

Jaemin smiles, heavy eyelids as he stares up at his face. Jeno has goosebumps rising when his hand traces the line of his jaw. “You could really be my muse even in this life. You have great features to draw, has anyone ever told you?”.

Jeno looks down at Jaemin’s chest, recognizes the shape of his hand under the shirt fabric, moves his fingers where the man usually feels pain, and he does make a sweet sigh. His breathing slowly calms down, Jeno knows his cheeks are warm but none of them stop staring at the other. It’s comforting, right, because Jeno always feels empty whenever Jaemin isn’t around, since they met for the first time. Probably for longer than that, figuring he only needed to meet him to bring the pieces together.

“I never met an artist. No one has ever told me”. 

Jaemin traces a thumb to his face, a puff of air breaching to his neck. “One day you should come to mine, I’d like to draw you. So if we meet again in a few centuries, there will probably be proof that we really existed as us this time”.

“And what are we going to see next time?”. 

“Hopefully this moment”. Jeno shuts his eyes, unable to keep a smile for himself, Jaemin’s fingers lingering to his face. He sees the prince and the duke kissing, just this time he can’t tell if it’s because he envies them and can’t stop thinking about how Jaemin would really taste, or it’s the same memory blending with the present.

Jaemin stays for the night. They might be the cause for the storm, yet there’s no way he’s going to let the man try and go home to see if it stops. There’s too much snow, growing quickly in centimeters and Jeno receives a mail from work, announcing the museum is closed. Also the academy will stay closed, and it’s a good chance to figure how to make it stop.

The sight from his window is astonishingly candid. A mass of soft looking white covering everywhere his eyes land, nose pressed at the balcony’s glass door admiring it. It’s cold, his breath making a small condense with each puff of air, and Jaemin is leaning next to him.

“Yarrows with this snow? It’s impossible”. He says, the sound of boiling water for an improvised dinner they’re making after spending a long time pressed together to the couch. Jeno still tingles with the cuddling he’s had, alongside all the memories slipped. Jaemin doesn’t see them, Jeno asked when they kept flashing under his eyes and the other seemed too bothered hugging him. They were all simple memories, affection the duke and prince shared, some belonging to their first meetings.

“Donghyuck said it too”.

“Do you know what the meaning of yarrows is?”. Jaemin pursues his lips in a delicate smile. “At least one of them”.

Jeno shakes his head, turning his attention completely to Jaemin. “They represent healing”. 

Jeno touches the collar of Jaemin’s shirt, hooks his fingers in the fabric. “Maybe I should make you a yarrow necklace to heal that chest of yours''.

“Who knows it might work”. Their noses graze with the step Jaemin makes closer to him, tilting his head just slightly when the timer rings, startling Jeno who sprints to the kitchen to turn it off. He could have ignored it and leaned in, Jeno guesses it is still not the right time.

The scream he makes is able to mangle sky and its clouds, compact with grey and snow falling to the ground. His hands are full of blood, dripping in tiny drops drowning in candid snow, crawling to the lifeless body next to him. He already tried, Jaemin doesn’t breathe anymore, the certainty has him bend violently on his cold body, picking him up closer to his chest. 

His crying burns in his throat swallowing broken glass like gulps, snot drooling down with tears. They were supposed to leave together, to be happier somewhere else. See what’s beyond this land with his lover. Jeno never thought this would be the other place Jaemin already went ahead of him to, a different indefinite destination. His gentle slope of his nose, same lips he knew by heart and kissed every strip of his skin they could meet, his lifeless eyes staring at him. Losing all the loving stares.

It’s too soon, Jaemin can’t be gone. It’s the king behind this, he’s sure, Jeno doesn’t have the strength to call him father. A father wouldn’t take him away all he’s ever had. Jeno said his heart beats for Jaemin, and there’s nothing more truthful, more than the hurting in his chest wrenching his heart the same way a dart did to Jaemin’s chest. This is his first death, emptier than a physical one could be.

“Please, Jaem-”. A disconnected line of sobs as he holds him closer not having the time to say his name completely, wet lips pressing to his freezing forehead. “We promised forever, Jaemin, you-”.

Jeno looks up to the sky, light sharp in his crying eyes and white reflecting all over them, a cursed space of snow stained by blood. His lover’s bloodstream, ruining clothes soaking with it after Jeno removes the arrow from his chest, the liquid release of the kindest heart that allowed Jeno to love him. He still does, no murder his family committed to take Jaemin away from him can change it.

“I don’t-”. Jeno breaks in sobs again, trying to hold them back because he needs to speak, it is necessary he says his wishes. Now or never, the universe will listen to him, because human hands got in between what fate had already written down for them. The universe will always be bigger than any existing entity, not caring about how big an ego makes you feel. 

A love that is not a sin merely because they loved each other; if their bond was wrong Jaemin would have never found a way to mingle in his life. Having a chance to change a lonesome end. And how sorrow it is without that warmth staring back.

He grazes the duke’s cheek, bringing blood to that pale cold skin he doesn’t recognize. Lost all the glint, still looking awfully a lot like what makes his heart alive in a tear, now numbing with all that crashing pain.

“I promise you this is not the end for us. We’re going to meet again, I’ll find you again Jaemin. It doesn’t matter how long it is going to take, and if you’re not going to fall in love with me it’s fine. The day we’re finding each other again, I’m going to keep you close in any way you’ll allow me to, but we will. I promise”.

He brings the duke closer in his arms to kiss his forehead, heavy weight for arms shaking with those echoing cries.

Jeno gasps, clutching desperately at the blanket covering him. His neck cracks a few times as he sits on the couch, looking out of the window. Thick centimeters of snow covering the city, white making the usual dark nights brighter with it’s small sparkling texture under the lights of a few streetlamps. He’s shaking, bringing hands in his mussy hair trying to calm his breathing but he’s in a frenzy to get up and go to his room.

He insisted on sleeping in the living room to give Jaemin his bed, and he’s surprised to find him awake, about to get out of the bedroom as he’s walking in. Jaemin is rubbing his eyes full of sleep, confused and frowning.

“Jeno, are you okay? I heard you screaming”.

Jeno hugs him. He holds tight, letting those tears that were already there when he woke up stain Jaemin’s shirt. He feels the other’s arms wrapping his middle, soothing gently his back and confused. Jeno is so glad he’s here, awake — alive. A boy in one of his shirts and shorts hugging him in this present that he consumed for in his past life to have. Now he knows, they’re here together because Jeno asked once stripped of the only person he wanted close.

“It’s you”. He says, smiling brightly as he frames Jaemin’s face. “You’re the duke, those people are us. And it was me, I asked for this and now you’re here”.

Jaemin keeps his hands on top of Jeno’s, reciprocating that smile despite still looking confused and sleepy. “What did you ask?”.

“For us to meet again in another life. I promised you we were going to, no matter if you wouldn’t end up loving me in this one”.

Jeno keeps tracing his hands to Jaemin’s face, as if he’s finally seeing him. He’d like to tell the prince he did it, this is his lover and he’s holding him right now through some long centuries. He wonders what happened to the prince after the duke died, what was left of him. Jaemin’s lashes are long, Jeno notices when he leans to press a kiss to his forehead.

It’s a hasty move, and he’s grateful to see Jaemin isn’t bothered, only closes his eyes at the touch. “How did I die?”. He looks at him, holding hands and they’re still here, grounded to this reality. “I’m sure I did. Is it why I can’t see a thing whenever my chest hurts?”.

“The prince-”. Jeno glances down where they are standing to the cold floor of his apartment. “I mentioned the king, said it’s his fault you died, and we were supposed to leave somewhere together”.

“An elopement?”. Jaemin raises his eyebrows mirthfully, and Jeno doesn’t have the will to detach from their close faces, hear the warm breathing of the man on his cheeks.

“Possibly”. Jeno smiles, relief washing his entire body the more he consciously has Jaemin’s hands in his. “I doubt we would have gotten the king’s blessing for a marriage”. 

Jaemin wrinkles his nose, a breathy laugh that makes Jeno want to know how pure dazzle tastes on his lips. “Isn’t it romantic? Dying for your greatest love?”.

“Or foolish”. Jeno whispers, thumb soothing Jaemin’s palm. “At the end of the day it was you losing your life”.

“Apparently you don’t only get one life to risk”. Jaemin tilts his head, and Jeno’s heart jumps abruptly as the man’s gaze falls to his lips. “Because here we are”.

Jaemin’s eyes look too fond to ignore, unsure if he should do anything at all. He stares back, fingers where the arrow pooled blood so bright in his shaky hands. Jeno is glad he can’t see it anymore, and if Jaemin rests his forehead against his, it is not for pain this time.

“I’m so glad you’re fine, I woke up and-”. Jeno sighs, fingers curling to his nape. “I thought for some reason you were also hurt”.

“I’m fine”. Jaemin smiles, letting Jeno move his fingers to his back. “Do you want to sleep in your room? Together, so you can check up if I’m alright any time you want”.

“Are you fine with that?”.

Jaemin pulls to properly give him a funny look. “Sleeping with my past lover I already spent one life with? I think I’m going to be fine, Jeno”.

They both laugh at it, they’ve been seeing a lot belonging to the common unbelievable and it’s still absurd whenever they rationally look back at all that’s been happening. Jeno gives one last look at the thick snow outside, following Jaemin to sleep. From the pace of his breathing since he’s back in his bed, Jeno knows none of them is going to fall asleep.

He counts in his head, tries to relax, feeling a restless itching at the tip of his fingers aware Jaemin is next to him. And he wants to be closer, as close they were on the couch hours earlier, especially now that last vision he had haunts his head. There’s a past version of him that is consumed to dust begging to have Jaemin close like this once again, wondering why it is taking this one Jeno he is now so long to hold him.

He hears Jaemin hard swallowing, the slow shifting to the mattress, a leg closer to his body. Jeno might be reading this all wrong but the other seems to be approaching him milder than a tiptoe, and if he does a bolder move they could break that distance. It’s not much, they’re already staying in the same bed but Jeno’s heart is restless, feeling miles apart.

So he leans to stroke Jaemin’s arm, all they need is one look in almost complete darkness to quickly shift with his head on the man’s chest. He’s warm, arm circling around his middle, Jeno’s hand right under the spot where his ear is, playing with the line of his hair. Jeno’s leg sheepishly shifts between Jaemin’s legs, bare ankles and calves bringing heat to his cheeks.

He hasn’t been close to someone in a long time, and no one ever felt like meeting your soulmate after years of wandering lost. Jeno wonders if he and Jaemin can confidently say they are. White snow reflects inside the apartment in bluish lights, tiny crystals of snowflakes sparkling as they compact in a long line of cold smearing the corners of his window. Jeno stares at it, feeling Jaemin’s knuckles grazing his face. Delicate, almost ticklish and it is so familiar to what he’s already seen many times in his head. No royalty, or prohibited feelings, only an art teacher and a museum security guard free to hold each other.

That freedom makes Jeno’s heart light, and the prince was right. It doesn’t matter if they’re ever going to feel anything stronger that already makes him long to have more of this Jaemin, it doesn’t matter. Jeno is going to keep him closer, and he’s lucky Jaemin seems to be on the same page. That security makes him fall asleep.

“You’re so clingy when you sleep”. Tells him Jaemin when he wakes up the next morning, in fact wrapped around Jaemin’s body just as he’d do to a warm pillow. He cranes his neck to see outside of his window, and it looks worse. There’s snow everywhere, a few meters of it that has him shut his eyes against Jaemin’s chest again, this time with a small groan.

“It’s never going to stop”. Jaemin laughs, not detaching to Jeno’s deathly hold as he rolls almost on top of him with that sleepy drawl. “What is it, a spell? Like I’m going to kiss you and it’s going to disappear or something?”.

“We could try that one”. Jaemin licks his lips with a sly look, still too tired to mind getting flustered over it. Yet the warm hand sliding down his side crumpling the shirt with it does make him feel a funny twist in his stomach, recognizing too well what it is. Jeno lifts enough to face him, a cocky eyebrow his way.

“Jaemin, I’m kidding, do you really think a kiss is going to do it?”.

“I don’t question anything anymore Jeno, who knows?”.

“But isn’t a kiss supposed to be really wanted?”. Jeno pats Jaemin’s chest, shaking his head slightly as he blinks twice at the gorgeous features he can outline with his digits. “I mean, in fairy tales it is, the kiss of true love”.

Jaemin presses his lips together, combing Jeno’s black hair and brings the thick locks back with his fingers. “Too soon to speak of love but who said I don’t want to?”.

Jeno doesn’t have the time to react that Jaemin’s stomach growls loudly, and he makes a not so attractive snort hearing it, pointing a finger to Jaemin’s clothed abdomen. “Your stomach does”. He sits up on the bed, offering Jaemin a hand. “Get up, we’re making breakfast”.

Jeno gets pushed away from the kitchen by Jaemin claiming he’s a better cook when he dares to open his balcony door, wetting slippers and thin clothes making him freeze as soon as he dares one step outside. He sees the yarrows, swears they're blooming right in front of his eyes, being more in number and they don't grow on steel railings, that’s something he’s extremely sure of. 

He picks up one of them, widening his eyes as the flower grows right back where he just took it away. Almost challenging, and Jeno dares to grab another one, shaking more than an unstable leaf on a windy day with how dry the cold is outside. Another yarrow grows again, and Jeno gets it. There's nothing that's ordinary happening to him recently, he should stop being surprised.

He turns to Jaemin, reasonably asking him what he’s doing outside, folding arms with the freezing air to find any kind of protection. Jeno turns with a smile, watching the sleepy face getting all shaken up with the breeze. There's a few snowflakes falling between his caramel colored strands of hair, and Jeno stretches his arm to stick the flower behind his ear.

“You look pretty”. He says with a bubbly hint of a smile, clouded sky roaring up their heads. Pale grey clouds all gathered to snow for days, a cold he can't bother to feel with the gleaming way Jaemin smiles back at him.

His thumb rests on Jaemin’s chin, sliding through his jaw as his spine gets wet meeting the railings, a pair of lips kissing him. He steps closer, eyes shut to feel the softness of shaping smooth skin following the pace of a melting, dizzying touch. Eyes shut, the burning air of their exhaling both out of breath trying to not let go, his tongue parting Jaemin’s lips when he feels prickling hitting of water to his skin, tasting sweet as it falls between their lips.

Jeno gapes, looking up at the immediate pouring rain creating holes to the snow, and he starts laughing looking at Jaemin. He seems shocked, aware his assumption was right, maybe all they needed was a kiss after all. Jeno latches his arms around Jaemin’s neck, stumbles to his body in a needier kiss.

“I like you”. He briefly pulls to say, busying their lips again with another languid meeting, starting to get soaking wet with the stronger and unstoppable rain, sky progressively angrier. 

“I really, really like you and I know you're going to think it is for our past life-”.

“I like you too, Jeno”. Jaemin interrupts him, palms sliding through his shoulder blades sticking with his wet grey shirt, gaze heavy with that giddy fondness.

“We can take it slow. There's another Jeno who has waited centuries for you”. Jaemin smiles as he kisses his cheek, cold and dripping with wet hair, the white flower secured behind his ear stuck with the weight of his drenched hair.

“The duke was a very lucky man”. Jaemin closes his eyes as Jeno keeps lingering delicate kisses on the humid skin of his cheeks, down to his jaw and the junction of his neck. “This one might be luckier though”. Jaemin tilts his head to give Jeno more space to stick his mouth around.

“We're so going to catch a cold”. Jeno chuckles, chin resting to Jaemin’s shoulder who keeps hugging him under the rain. 

Unexplainably to all laws existing, it also drastically heats up outside, a temperature high enough to make snow start to fade with the violent rain falling all day, Jeno half asleep on Jaemin’s shoulder as he draws on a piece of paper and a pen he gives him, trying to recreate a sketch of the music room with his experienced hands. He’s amazed by the man’s talent, of course he expected him to be more than a good artist after years spent at the academy of fine arts, yet he’s impressed taking in his hand a rough picture of what looks very similar to the view in their visions.

The glass door of his balcony is thin, boomy with every drop of rain in the unstable looking apartment. The prince turns to the illuminated room where the ball is taking place, watching a mention of patchy rain giving up from the dark grey sky that hosted most of the night, musical quartet unwearying with the increasing couples mingling in dances. Prince Jeno today isn’t in the mood for frivolities, not when the only person he’d truly dance with is hosting the ball and won’t ever grant the hand.

The king has been unusually chatty about bringing up Jeno’s unwed state recently, complaining all the balls he’s been attending in the debutante season aren’t bringing in any good news. Jeno isn’t openly courting anyone, and the reason for it stays behind the closed doors in the duke’s music room or, to riskier days, his own bedroom and the gardens.

An upset prince stays alone on the large balcony welcoming the breathtaking view of the green gardens darkened by rain, grateful no one took the chance to approach him, longing to be alone. He sighs, surely not passing unnoticed when he leaves the room to the quiet, wandering around a palace he shouldn’t know by heart to walk in the dark like he does. His steps naturally guide him in his favorite room, breathing relieved by the thought of giving end to the obligation of entertaining, falling on the felt loveseat to stay by himself.

He needs it, off duties, expectations he can’t comply. Jeno doesn’t want a wife, or a family if he can’t have it with the only person his heart belongs to. Hopeless all around as he tries to look at the moon but it’s clouded, dispersed in the night somewhere. Tired of living in fear, of seeing corruption everywhere he looks but if he wants to spend the rest of his life with a man instead, he’s considered a terrible person. A disgrace of a prince, the downfall of a future king.

Jeno sits by the piano, mindlessly playing one of the many pieces the duke composed for him, fingers not as practiced as Jaemin’s are, yet able to follow the notes fluently. Jeno bends with the keys, posture never one of his traits when he plays, finding passion for one of the many things he’s been forced to learn, to virtue. All shaping him in a worthy blue blood, and Jeno wishes every day he could become more invisible.

The only moments he wants to be seen are with the one person to whom this room belongs to. He catches the door opening, Jaemin walking closer to the piano all dressed up to be the perfect landlord for the night. “I’ve been looking for you, your alderman said you left”. 

Jeno glances down when the duke dips fingers in his hair, making space for him to seat on the small bench. He slightly lifts the corner of his mouth when a careful kiss press to his cheek, leaning closer to Jaemin.

“What is troubling your precious mind, sweet”. Says the duke with his sweet voice always finding a way to articulate the deep affection they have in his words, preening with them. There’s no one else Jeno could love, sure of it with a glance when he looks up and finds him.

“You deserve someone who can love you freely, Jaemin”. Jeno holds his face. “My father says I have to get married at the end of the season. I can’t deceive any of those ladies, would be hideous of me”.

“I’m never going to be free to love if it’s not with you”. Jaemin’s eyes hide a sorrow Jeno knows well, he is the same.

“Then let’s leave”. Jeno whispers to his lips, tears threatening to fall. “Run away together, there’s nothing else I want. Your hand in mine, and we’ll be fine Jaemin”.

“I’m not taking away your chance to take the throne”. Jeno closes his eyes at the duke’s words, always too selfless for his kind. 

“No wealth compares to you, I don’t need the throne”. Jaemin gives in at his words, letting Jeno melt with him in a brief contact, enough for his lips to stick gently against his. “Please”.

“Jeno”. Jaemin chuckles when he’s sitting on his lap, straddling the man’s legs and blinking at the brighter lights of his apartment, rain pouring outside. “Another memory?”.

He nods, smiling sheepishly before he stands up to take Jaemin’s drawing, curling back to the couch where Jaemin brings him down to lay. He meets his chest when Jaemin hugs him from behind, the hold cozy as he presses his lips where he can find his jaw. They turned the tv on for the sake of keeping some lively chatter between their quiet and busy mouths, feeling as lively as a teenager making out with a man to the point where it’s hard to detach and keep his hands for himself. 

It’s sweet, Jaemin is careful and truly respectful, always checking on him before some fingers can thread under his shirt to graze bare heated skin. Jeno does as well, lost in that pleasing haze that fits just right with the weather. Jeno hopes they won’t have to find a solution to also make all that rain stop; if a kiss was all it took he has no idea what they should do this time.

Jaemin asks if he’s okay, and Jeno nods, holding the piece of paper close to his chest before he turns to face him. “We wanted to run away together”. Jaemin makes a positive sound as he wraps a firmer arm around his waist, to pull Jeno closer. He finds it sweet, they’re already pressed together in his small couch, there’s nowhere else he could go.

“We reached our destination”. Jaemin bends his head to kiss him, Jeno’s thumb naturally falling to his cheekbone to press there.

“Do you think there’s something we should watch out for?”. Jeno frowns. Fate might have wanted them back on the same path, but usually for as much as he knows from old legends or movies, these fortunate events always have something to pay for.

“We already suffered enough in the past, I think we’re good”. Jeno plays with Jaemin’s hair when he rests to his chest, heart suddenly hammering in his chest at the thought of that possibility. He figures he has to be positive, and he can do that with Jaemin falling asleep after a few minutes, the weight on his body reassuring.

Two days later they let go of the other, Jaemin needs to recollect all he’s left in his apartment, museums and schools opening after two different storms. There’s some sheepish giggling as they say goodbye, awaited first rays of sun filtering through the thick sky, a “See you soon” kiss sealing those days spent together. Luckily it doesn’t seem to be goodbyes waiting for them, split by a phone call to meet later in the week.

Jeno finds stuck in that dreamy haze, lost in recent memories flashing in front of his face just with a glance at the couch from the breakfast table a few minutes about to head to work. His heart and stomach get funny with a thought, tempted to text Jaemin more than once. He’s letting the man adjust to his routine from where it stopped in that timeless pause they spent together, victims of the weather. Jeno doesn’t want to look clingy, albeit in his head it makes sense, he’s never liked someone this much, always gave up on dating whenever he felt he was better alone.

Rain keeps falling, alternating with some daring rays of sun in between to break that grey monotony, an umbrella in hand the only security he can get out of the museum. Some are louder complainers, Donghyuck repeating at least snow didn’t ruin his flowers, today letting out all his frustration to Mark, new victim supposed to peacefully refill the vending machines without listening to the man’s loud complaints. Mark listens, more distracted by Donghyuck being in the same room as him than anything else, everyone knows the two have history.

Jeno wouldn’t get free coffee if it wasn’t for his friendship with Donghyuck and his friend’s flirt with Mark. He benefits from both, sipping a coffee in the breakroom as Dejun has his face as if it wants to be one with the phone screen watching a tv show he’s been talking about non stop to them. Jeno can’t help but smile behind his paper cup as Donghyuck pleads any higher being or science behind all of this to bring seasons back, promising he’s going to become an ecologic activist. Mark looks awfully familiar to the prince’s alderman, he’s sure the man has the same name, staring too deeply at his clothed back as he works, bending to the open slot of the vending machine.

Donghyuck ends up asking if he’s cheating on Jaemin and why he stares at Mark like he wants to eat his soul, which steals a snicker from Jeno. He goes for the easy way, saying Mark simply looks familiar and he specifies — with a tint of disappointment, that he can’t really cheat on Jaemin if they’re not dating. Jeno also has to admit that yes, he and the art teacher have been going out for a while now, Donghyuck calling him a snail for not making any bold move on him. And he’s right.

Between work, house chores left unfinished and some light chatter Jeno gets to the same old routine, one day after countless times during the week when he was about to ask Jaemin out he does get a text from him. He asks if he’s working, and as Jeno moves his thumbs to reply, getting out of the museum that early evening he spots Jaemin right at the entrance, blushed cheeks and gleaming smile. Needless to say Jeno’s stomach churns with fondness, biting back the wide smile threatening to show as he walks his way. He also sees Doyoung looking at them, peeking from his booth.

Jeno doesn’t know what to expect, or what to do. Should he simply wave? Pat his shoulder? No, they’re not strangers or hardly acquaintances, it would be weird to pat the back of a man that slept in his same bed for two days. Jaemin is wearing a pale pink beanie with a whiter puffy jacket hiding his lean figure, bright and reflecting under the light, his fingers barely visible from the long sleeves as they take Jeno’s hand.

Jaemin seems to have his mind more at ease with what they should do, the other arm loose around his waist as he leans in. Jeno retreats, taking a fast look around the ticket office where a few of his coworkers are there. Lifting his eyebrows stupidly he looks back at Jaemin who seems slightly saddened, the arm around his waist even more loose than before, about to rest at his sides.

“Here?”. He asks, surprised. Jeno would love to, learning from his past dates or relationship he was never allowed to show affection in public, some of them more ashamed by their own preferences to the point where they also brought some real insecurities onto him. Jeno never cared about being with a man in public before his own dates changed his mind, and Jaemin seems to understand after he speaks.

“Where else?”. Jaemin smiles, Jeno is glad to feel the arm back circling his middle.

“You want to kiss me here”. Jeno repeats, affirmative, just to make sure this is not a drill, for the first time there’s a man he’s - technically not - dating who’s not ashamed of what they are together and what people might think.

“Yes Jeno, why not?”. Jaemin makes a silly pout, fixing the zip of his jacket up to cover his chest properly. “We’re just two people kissing, nothing scandalous here”.

Jeno leans with the bright grin that was eventually about to break on his face, enjoying the thin space between their noses clashing with that faint airy laugh he makes. Jaemin bites his lips cunning, a hand playing with his ear. “Well, unless we make it scandalous”.

“You’re impossible”. Jeno rolls his eyes but kisses Jaemin, heart speeding and in his defense, his shift is over so he can smooch his pretty date. He still has to ask Jaemin out, positive the man is going to accept.

Jeno only regrets doing it in front of his coworkers, frustrating at times with how much they tease him after their sappy scene. It’s still nice to see Jaemin particularly befriending Doyoung, who grows a soft spot for the man with all the times Jaemin stands by the ticket office waiting for him and fairly, it’s hard not to. He falls in a routine that involves Jaemin, as welcoming as the lukewarm sun hitting his face when they sit by the church’s steps in the city square, Jaemin feeding birds next to him.

It makes all them crowd around with their greedy beaks, Jeno grimacing at them unreasonably scared and Jaemin chuckles, hand resting on his thigh as he closes the shop bag with some leftovers from their impromptu lunch and apologizes to the birds. He finds it endearing, the way Jaemin treats animals but he likes cats better, has a sort of attraction to them and it seems mutual when they all usually let him pet them.

They loiter in the city, watch some shop displays with the tip of his nose getting red and colder as the sun settles, chapped lips between his teeth when their hands intertwine and they keep walking around tourists and locals guiding him around when the teacher tells him he’s never passed by a specific street. Generally streets too adventurous for tourists. Jaemin’s hand is warm, dry from the cold and smooth at the same time, never leaving him even when it gets sweaty inside the crowded subway. 

He only leaves it stepping inside Jaemin’s apartment. A wider space than his place, lacking furniture looking at a studio that accidentally holds in a kitchen and a somewhat living room. Jeno would immediately figure it belongs to an artist simply sharing a look at it — and the clear boxes with paint, pencils, empty canvases and colorful ones, some scattered in the corner and others hanging to dry are significant hints. Jeno takes off his shoes sliding feet on a slick light parquet, city view framed by a wide window to the side where a tv, two armchairs and a piano are.

It’s a pretty place, cozy in its chaotic structure, two closed doors to the side wall where Jeno supposes there must be Jaemin’s room and a bathroom. He doesn’t have to ask, Jaemin opens the door to show him and Jeno is surprised by how neat it is compared to the rest of the apartment. Not that hard having it unorganized when there’s barely a bed and a wardrobe, Jaemin resting his back to the doorframe with a sheepish grin.

“I still didn’t look out for furniture, everything is quite empty here”.

Jeno doesn’t care, he’s more curious about the piano staying in the part of space built as a living room, dragging Jaemin in front of the instrument, the other getting what he wants. Jaemin sits on the small bench according to the keyboard, reasonably so if Jaemin had to move an actual piano to the city it wouldn’t have been for a temporary space. Jaemin is still looking for a proper house once he gets comfortable with his job and life.

He pats on his lap, loosely holding Jeno’s hips and after a pointed look he does sit there, unsure where to rest his hands when caged between Jaemin’s arms stretching to his fingers finding a position to the keys, warm breath falling to his nape. 

“Is it gonna hold us two?”. Jeno jokes, shoulders back to Jaemin’s chest as he starts playing a piece he doesn’t know. 

There’s music being played on the piano by a musician according to the queen’s taste, the reception room of the palace delighted by another cold morning. The prince isn’t fond of all those amenities just to talk with his mother, avoiding a loud smack of his lips as tea gets served, gold of one mirror frame across the room reflecting a young man who’s getting all his light stolen by a luxurious cage.

He stares at the boiled eggs and bread, not daring to touch them, and it doesn’t take long for the wary eyes of the queen to notice. Always ready to understand the futile, Jeno thinks as they lock eyes. His father’s request caught wind of her ears of gold for sure, and the prince patiently waits for his mother to bring it up to conversation.

“I find it you’re not courting any lady, Jeno”. Her cheeks are of a bright pink, dark thick lashes resembling his looking down at him, delicate fingers pressing to the border of the porcelain plate. “Might be the influence of the duke’s public choices of staying unwed?”. 

She raises her eyebrows when Jeno frowns at her. “It’s no secret such an important friendship of the prince, I keep my eyes open”.

“I’m not interested in getting married, mother”. Jeno tortures his lips nipping at them, he has nothing to risk. Asking the scandalous and if it doesn’t go well he’s planning to leave either way. “Unless there’s a chance for two kings ruling together, or for me to refuse my place”.

The queen smiles, finding amusement in his words. And they’re quite funny spoken against tradition, Jeno knows. “I’m afraid you don’t have older brothers my dear”. She makes a face, shaped with cautious dread. “What are you suggesting? Two kings you said''.

“The duke and I are close”. He hesitates, heart beating strongly his ribcage could break. “As close as I’d keep a lady in marriage”.

The pianist abruptly stops playing, dramatically filling the shock of the queen’s silence following Jeno’s words until a servant frantically gestures at the musician to continue, covering the prince’s apparently outrageous words.

“Jeno, dear god-”.

“Is either this or the duke and I are leaving”. Jeno’s breath shakes with each deep inhaling trying to shake off his panic. The prince was well raised, has good solid morals and if his mother at least knows he’s somewhere she can’t reach, maybe there’s a chance he can live with that weight shrugged from his shoulders. 

He wants to love Jaemin, and in this land and palace they won’t ever have a chance. Nowhere else, really, yet the prospect of keeping it a secret and living humbly is better than marrying a woman he’ll sure make sad. Jeno can’t try to court someone he won’t ever have feelings for.

“Is this the duke’s doing, isn’t it?”. The queen scoffs a bitter laugh, turning to a servant just to share her displease. “You really think the duke loves you. Of course you do, a gullible young prince”.

“Our hearts are sincere-”.

“The duke is tricking you”. She says with her voice rising, losing all the royal elegance for a moment. He gets it, she’s worried, as a mother would but she doesn’t see it. It doesn’t matter how many voices are there to gossip what happens behind closed doors, no one has seen with their own eyes what he and Jaemin have; understandably she can’t reason with it. “Got all of this in your mind, so he can take the throne. You’re so foolish you’d give it to him”.

“It has nothing to do with power”. Jeno presses his lips together, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. “He loves me”.

“All has to do with power, Jeno. And your looks, the duke didn’t spare anything, took all he could”. She stands up, one dirty look down his petrified body as she leaves the room.

Jeno feels a tear down his cheek, bottom lip wobbling as Jaemin’s lips press to his jaw. His hand is firmly wrapped around the man’s arm who stops playing, staring at the black and white keys. He soaks the careful hug, fragile after those words that aren’t directed to him and they’re so far from the relationship Jeno has with his mother. A loving woman that never judges him for who he likes and is, someone who made sure he felt safe and reminded there’s nothing wrong with him and she’s sorry if he ever thought of it once.

“Hey, Jen don’t cry''. Jeno turns to simply hide his face in the crook of Jaemin’s neck, shaking his head but there are some few silent tears still falling. It shouldn’t hurt this much, yet Jeno feels for the prince, and is deeply sorry for him and everyone who’s had to deal with worse in the years. Painful years to date, where most people would make you feel shameful and wrong still hiding in the new spirit of acceptance, but he sees those stares and what they really mean. Jeno has a good share of those. 

Stares of people who don’t care if he isn’t straight, but pray at night their sons would never be like he is. Jeno is aware that price is him and is everyone else who decides to step in the light for once and not succumb in fear. The prince is exactly how he could be right now if he didn’t have the luck to find accepting people in his life starting from his family — and there shouldn’t be such a thing when his right to love doesn’t affect anyone else but him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”. 

“Not now”. Jeno strokes Jaemin’s face, looking at him. “I like you, and I’m glad we can do stupid things like holding hands or kissing in front of my colleagues. Thank you for making me feel this is right, I had many unfortunate encounters before I met you''.

Jaemin’s eyes are glossy as Jeno sheds some few liberating tears, throat clenching without allowing him to take a break. “Jeno, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with us. You’re the greatest person I know and I’m sorry someone before me was too blind to see it. I don’t like seeing you sad”.

“I’m not, actually I’m very happy Jaemin”. Jeno stands up, bringing Jaemin to a long hug. 

Cars clutter chaos outside; sounds of life happening, all muffled by the pounding of his heart and Jaemin’s hands soothing his back. Losing track of time, stuck in years passing without being aware this is their destination. Jaemin is right, they reached their place together, the one they tried to run away to when things could have never been easy for them.

“I’m hungry, can you cook for me?”.

Jaemin makes a sneer full of fondness. “You like my food too much”. 

Between dinner and a few sketches or actual paintings Jaemin did he shows Jeno, it gets obviously unspoken Jeno is going to stay for the night. He spots him rummaging in a few drawers bringing out towels and a new toothbrush for him as Jeno is lazing on the man’s armchair, smiling guiltily when he realizes he maybe should have asked first.

Jaemin seems fine with it, eyes heavy with sleep on Jeno’s chest as he’s busy reading for them one of the history of art books Jaemin’s students use. Unlike the first time they slept together where he was too anxious about his visions to care of how sudden it was, now Jeno has space to realize how comfortable he is with him. Natural, as they’ve done this forever, a dinner and chatter fading to a voice too tired to keep reading, arm reaching to turn the lights off without disturbing Jaemin from his sleepy position.

Jaemin’s calm breathing, a darkness that could never be unsettling with that sweet weight and fragrance falling on his skin. “We’re dating, right?”. Jeno eventually asks, because this past few weeks they’ve been going out together despite not officially feeling as they are, without any formalities to bring up. This is the most genuine bond Jeno ever had, no common steps they should take, he doubts one of them truly has to speak up.

Jaemin takes his hand to press his lips in a brief kiss at the back of it. “We are”.

Jeno keeps thinking and dreaming of the prince and that conversation with the queen full of doubts of something as simple and rare as burning for someone. It has him wake up early, before his alarm clock can tell him he needs to be up and functional for the day. There’s no use dragging himself back in bed again if he’s awake, lingering by the kitchen stove after showering and slipping in one of Jaemin’s large house shirts he took from his wide drawers, bare feet cold against the warm parquet as the heating kicks in at six am sharp.

He’s filling the coffee maker, fingers dripping water as he closes the jar cap back in the cupboard, goosebumps with the thin stream of air from the small slot he left open to change the air. He rests his back against the counter, distractedly gnawing at his nails without really doing anything to ruin them, staring blankly at Jaemin’s art sprawled in the other side of the room. 

Jeno would have believed the bitter tone of the queen — surely lying to Jeno convincing him the duke is the bad guy of the story to keep his son to the land and in a future keeping up their dynasty at the throne, yet he would have believed her if he didn’t see with his own memory how special the bond with the duke was. Jaemin from the past wasn’t interested in power at all, otherwise he would have tried to get an heir to continue his bloodline. Or maybe he was but his love for Jeno made him give that up, he’s just curious to know more about it. 

How much they both were about to give up for their love, and if it is the same amount Jeno would for this Jaemin. It’s only the start for them, they still have to know each other in more ways that his mind sometimes allows him to think.

Jeno blinks as Jaemin rushes where he is, turning off the stove, a big part of the coffee boiling and falling to the steel surface in a frying sound. There’s a soft kiss on his chin, Jaemin’s head tilting with a funny grin, scanning his face and body standing still. He says a teasing “Morning”, Jeno gawking mortified as he looks for something to clean but he’s blocked with a hand on his shoulder.

“Jeno, are you sure you’re okay?”. And oh, Jaemin gives him those careful eyes that make him feel so special, nodding and shaking his head at the same time, bright green sponge in hand when he finally finds it.

“I’m distracted”. He chuckles sheepish, wetting his lips getting dry. “Go shower, I won’t destroy your house in the meanwhile, promise”.

Jaemin takes a few more seconds to stare at him, puckering his lips and Jeno finds it cute. “I trust you with that”. He starts walking towards the bathroom, turning to point at him and the stove. “And you don’t have to clean that, okay? I can do it later, we have time”.

Jeno does take his time. To end up cleaning the stove as the sound of water accompanies his thoughts, fold his arms and look at Jaemin getting out of the bathroom, damp hair and towel hanging low his hips, giving him one of his bright smiles as he walks closer where Jeno has still done nothing to get ready, didn’t end up finishing his disastrous coffee either.

He presses his palms to Jaemin’s sides, recognizing the same smell of the shower gel Jeno used before, somehow better when it comes right from the other’s skin. It’s usually more faded, masked by hours of work and city dust, now strong and clean in his nostrils, Jaemin looking down at his hands roaming up to his chest.

Jeno hooks his fingers in the towel wrapped on Jaemin’s lower body, pushing him close to latch his mouth in a languid pace made of his tongue lazily parting Jaemin’s lips, feeling his hands soothing the messy strands of black hair from drying them only with the heating air of the apartment. He unties the grip keeping the white towel around Jaemin when the other pulls from their kiss.

“I said we have time but not this much, sweet”. Jaemin huffs out some air in an amused small laugh, closing his eyes when Jeno traces his tongue on the man’s bottom lip starting another kiss. Jaemin takes Jeno’s obvious hint and lifts him to the counter, deepening their hungry mouths stopping that morning chase just to take Jeno’s shirt off, fingers pressing to Jaemin’s neck when he lowers to suck a faint bruise right under his ear.

“We don’t?”. Jeno’s hand goes through Jaemin’s lower stomach, hearing a soft hiss when he touches him. Jaemin bites his bottom lip, smirking as he shakes his head when Jeno’s ankles press at the back of his thighs.

“When your shift is over, we have all night if you want”. Jaemin lifts him to bring him back on his feet, Jeno noticing the blush up his cheekbones. “Dress up before I regret it”.

Jeno laughs, pushing Jaemin’s chest playfully. “Same goes for you, I can’t believe you’re rejecting me”.

Needless to say Jeno is a joke at work, wanting to smash his head several times when he’s suddenly dragged to the ticket office lacking staff, a few people getting sick after the unusual weather. He thinks life is enjoying making him suffer, standing behind the booth giving smiles and tickets the only day he would have loved to languish on his beloved chairs in another museum room.

And for some unexplainable reason today there’s an uncommon unstoppable line of tourists, all asking the guide for the same exhibition. Poor Donghyuck, he thinks, handing in with a smile another set of tickets and politely welcoming the next new faces in line. It goes on all morning, non stop, draining him of life as he slumps on the small couch after his clock signals a break.

Jeno is pressing a number to take some sugar from the vending machine when suddenly all he sees is Jaemin kissing his neck when they woke up in the morning, ending up really pressing with a strong thump his forehead to the machine. He hears the sound of a throat being cleared, crisp flipping of a newspaper flipped.

“Trouble in heaven?”. Doyoung glances up the moment Jeno turns with a scowl, sighing with his chocolate bar in hand.

“Quite the opposite”. Jeno takes a seat on the long table of their breakroom, resting his heavy head in the palm of his hand. 

“Mh, that looks very youthful”. Doyoung smirks, hinting at his hickey. Jeno struggles to think if he’s the right age to go around with it, wanting to laugh at how when he first got a visible one he was considered too young and now apparently he’s aging too much to have a hickey. 

Better to not care, shrugging his shoulders at the older with a cocky eyebrow up. “Jealous?”.

Doyoung smiles, eyes teasingly wide as he presses his lips together. “Very”. He whispers, making Jeno chuckle too. “You look happy”.

Jeno nods, chocolate melting under his tongue, fists holding his cheeks when he leans forward to the table and stares lively at Doyoung. “I’m sure you’re thinking it is soon but I think I found the one”.

There’s no such a thing, Jeno thinks as he stumbles back into Jaemin's apartment, hands and lips subtly touchier since he picked the man from the art academy. The very get go of the morning, not as fresh both consumed by city exhaustion, an amused scoff mixed with a sheepish giggle between the sloppy kisses trying to make up for the time lost discarding clothes in a fabrics path inside the apartment. His mind and memories had him see this raw version of them many times before, nothing close to the real thing.

He does get flustered in the middle of a twirling tongue, a gaping against the wall before they can even walk to Jaemin’s room, fingers curling behind his thighs as Jeno’s hands are busy tangling in silky light hair, map his lips to Jaemin’s exposed chest and his left collarbone. He realizes Jaemin hasn’t been hurting anymore since they kissed the first time, breaking the pain and snow hoarded until that moment, focusing on the soft sigh escaping his lips when Jeno traces his tongue there.

All the textures, mentions of body hair, scrapes, lived skin under his palms as he stares up at Jaemin hovering him on his bed. The rough surfaces around his jaw area where Jaemin shaves daily, rippling the passage his stroking fingers make and yet Jaemin is so beautiful, with happy wrinkles around his eyes, lips ghosting against his when Jeno arches his back. Memories of a prince and a duke flashing in front of his eyes as Jaemin moves and holds his leg up, no difference between a loveseat and a bed when their breathing is rushed and Jeno mewls with that pressure inside him. 

Evening darkening inside the room, Jaemin straddling his legs with blown eyes closing as Jeno simply traces his hands to his sides giving him freedom to move as he please, unaware of how long they’ve been there. Memorizing Jaemin in a new light, the one that has him pushing his lower back closer and stealing Jaemin’s breath with it, latching slippery hands with sweat around Jeno’s neck, trying to not lose balance. The deep affection that makes them get lost in mouths too weak to let go, flipping over the same untidy bed sheets all over again chasing for the other’s needs.

Finding somehow romance in a creaking bed frame and sounds less appeasing and more desperate, words whispered as meaningless secrets between them, yet special if no one else would ever be allowed to know but them if this ends up being a memory for a possible future life where Jeno and Jaemin will meet a third time. 

Fated memories of Jaemin's frantic rising and falling chest when he looks down at Jeno between his legs, a soft smile as he kisses his inner thigh, crawling back in his arms. He takes a look outside realizing the sky is pitch dark, a vision that could be the one of the palace as much or of the city at night, both of them letting out a weary and quiet laugh when they look at each other. Relaxed and spent in their hold. 

Jaemin steals him for another kiss, this time calmer, a loud swallowing sound in the motionless silence. Jeno’s arm might get numb staying in that crumpled position, too focused pressing his digits to Jaemin’s stomach, leg sneaking between him as Jaemin pulls him on top of his laying body. 

“Ask me a fate’s riddle and I’ll tell them about us”. He smiles in their kiss, Jaemin’s eyes the size of the moon sparkling in that darkness broken by a dim light to his nightstand as their only company. Jeno gapes at Jaemin’s fingers slipping inside his rim, not giving him the time to cool off their recent closeness. He's still slick and easy to stretch, glaring at the man but it feels good to complain.

“And where are you going to start telling the story? It’s getting quite long”. Jaemin teasingly bites his lobe, Jeno melting to his chest with his deepening fingers just where he quickly understood he has a weak spot.

“I would start from, you know the-”. Jeno moans, nose pressed to Jaemin’s neck as he rocks his hips back to his fingers. “I would- shit, Jaemin, right there”.  
“You like my fingers a little too much”. Jaemin chuckles, yet taking the chance to leave careful pecks to the line of his shoulder. 

“You do too”. Jeno complains, another whine occupying the silence as Jaemin adds another finger, pent up moans getting out in a short trail when he looks up to face him, fingers pressing to his chest. “Would you like me to remind you what you said before when it was me doing this?”.

Jeno deems victory when Jaemin blushes, nibbling his lips as he stares at Jeno free to be noisy, he gets the reaction he wanted so there’s nothing that will stop him from enjoying how good Jaemin is. He finds it fun, to bicker playfully between their movements that show they’re exactly the opposites of enemies, biting words always flooded with clear tenderness.

The shy reaction doesn’t last long, eyes flicking with a glint Jeno should watch out for, a gaze that’s too confident. “Quoting horny slip ups is evil, doll”. Jaemin bites his bottom lip, fingers replaced and Jeno is sure the night isn’t over for them.

Jeno is accumulating different images of Jaemin still caught with his dreams as he lays awake and stares in the morning. Sometimes he keeps his mouth crack open having drool staining his pillow or Jeno’s shirt in worst scenarios to which he honestly doesn’t care much, after all it comes from the same mouth that has kissed him in places that shouldn’t be said out loud. Jaemin’s long lashes would graze his puffy cheeks gathering warm air that eventually falls on his skin when they sleep particularly pressed together, sometimes frowning with incoherent mumbling, other times buried in his neck and the pillow Jeno can’t really see a thing.

He wonders what he dreams of when brown eyes are hidden in that unconscious beauty, if he remembers his dreams. Not necessarily of them, Jeno wants to know all that's futile, less important, what belongs to that mind he loves whenever it expresses. Jaemin is endearing, with that gentle slope of his nose and a hand currently dead weight next to Jeno’s head in a stuffy hug they shifted to during the night. Jeno tickles his cheek, sun rising up their heads. It must be later than Jeno would usually wake up, not surprised considering how late they went to bed. 

His body is sore, listening to Jaemin's groan as he tries to stir his muscles scrunching his face in different grimaces. If Jaemin’s body hurts as much as Jeno’s does, they’re not going to do much today. The bed is warm, a pool of heat tempting to bathe in all morning, smiling at the blind kiss falling on his eye when Jaemin tries to lift his head.

“I found our new curse”. Jaemin croaks out with a rough low voice, slurred with a short sentence. Jeno glances at him curling to his side, a human sized cat snatching his arm. “Making love with you but it’s sore like hell the next day”.

Jeno bursts out laughing, head thrown back to the pillow. “We just need to tone it down to a couple of times and we’re fine”.

“But you’re so pretty when you’re taking care of me”. Jaemin whispers and Jeno bites back a smile, twitching his eyebrows up.

“Oh am I?”. He takes Jaemin’s hips to pull him to his side, kissing him as Jaemin nods and has just the time to say “The prettiest”.

Jaemin’s apartment on a sunny day is a lighthouse, the light parquet beautiful against the sun shadowing furniture and the stand where there’s a canvas Jaemin has a barely started painting creating abstract drawings to the wooden. Jeno this time makes a coffee without spilling most of it to the stove, nose humid with the mist as he lazily sips it with a few drops of milk. 

They have a free day, were supposed to spend it doing something productive or visiting a part of the city Jaemin still has to see but the night brought bodies weary and dark circles resting under their eyes despite the extra hours of sleep. Jeno twirls his warm mug trying to soak something distracting his cold shivering, tempted to borrow some thicker clothes from Jaemin’s closet. 

Jaemin who’s sitting on the floor in the living room side of the apartment, computer in his lap, hearing the clicking sound of the touchpad from time to time. Jeno’s vision is blurred without his glasses on after rushing to the bathroom at some point of the night to take his contacts off, hoping they’re somewhere in his bag and not home. It would surely be a challenge going back home without glasses.

He doesn’t ask, Jaemin is probably checking work stuff and he only gets curious when the man gasps excitedly, almost slipping to the floor running where Jeno is with his socked feet. Jeno smiles seeing Jaemin happy, not really understanding what big thrilling thing he is watching, a picture of a seeming sheet music for a piano piece, probably. Considering Jaemin plays the piano is all he can think of.

Jaemin rests the laptop to the dining table, caging Jeno to the counter with his bubbly enthusiasm. “So”. He starts, biting his bottom lip, cheeks curving in a smile. “I asked one of the librarians of the academy to do a little research for me, mentioning where you found those information about Duke Na, wondering if there are some records of all the musical pieces he wrote for the prince”.

Jeno shapes his mouth in a ‘o’, pointing at the computer. “Is that one of those?”.

Jaemin nods, taking the mug from his hands and rushes to print a copy of it. It’s a scan from the original book, a specific one for possible enthusiasts of 19th century music, containing less famous sheets discovered and conserved by historians. The book distribution really is for a small circle of people, the reason why there’s only a copy kept in the library and the kind librarian helped Jaemin found it and reach out to him once she did. 

“Play it for me, would you?”. Jeno might look completely enamoured as he watches Jaemin rewrite the notes on another sheet, studying the music piece at the same time. He looks up at him where he sits on the piano bench, Jeno’s hand pressing to the border of the instrument when Jaemin starts playing.

Jeno closes his eyes, opening them to the duke pressing his last chord in the echoing room. Hand resting to the piano the prince takes in his, thumb faintly tracing a finger he lifts under one of his, a lovely entanglement. He’s disappointed, really, Jeno would have loved to focus more on the music if it wasn’t for his heart sounding loud in his ears, nervous speed accompanied by the heavy breath he takes.

Jaemin kisses the back of his hand, as a nobleman would do, standing up to be at his height. Winter is in full bloom, snow slowly attaching to the green fields of the king’s land, trees bare skeletons replacing the pretty yarrows and roses of his garden. Cold is approaching, a sharp cold they need to escape soon if they really want to leave.

“Aren’t you afraid of regret?”. The prince watches Jaemin step and let his knuckles rest to his face, eyelashes fluttering to his lips direction.

“Are you?”. 

“Not for me”. Jeno delicately wraps fingers around the duke’s wrist, trying to take a serious moment for them that doesn’t involve intimate touches, not even a gentle hand on his skin. “I’m afraid for you. Why are you wasting all you have for me, when you do have the chance to find a woman you could love”.

Jaemin shakes his head, corner of his mouth in a sorrow smile. “I didn’t choose you, Jeno”. He looks at their intertwined hands, not able to detach and it speaks more than words. “You didn’t choose me, do you think we would be here if it was really only up to us?”.

Jeno doesn’t reply, Jaemin is not wrong. If he really had a choice, a chance to tame those dangerous feelings that set him free the same moment they consume as what is deemed to be a sin, Jeno would go for the easy way. Marry a woman, become the king once his father dies. 

“We’re fated, might say soulmates if you believe in it”. The duke smiles, leaning closer to Jeno’s face. 

“I never had to choose, it was never up to me. We were meant to meet at the ball, and now we’re meant to leave this land together. It’s not easy, I know it’s not for you either but there’s not a moment where I look back and wish it would be different. You took all I am, Jeno. I’m yours, belonging to you more than I belong to myself, and there’s no place for me or you to doubt it”.

“I love you, Jaemin”. Jeno confesses, this time not trying to push the duke away, meeting his lips where light washes their profiles in that foggy day.

Jaemin sits in the armchair, guiding Jeno to his lap by his hips when they both whine in pain, bodies still adjusting to their rather active night. He throws his head back with a groan, Jeno squeezing his eyes in an amused laugh getting exactly how sore they are, shoulders cracking in an awful sound Jeno cringes to. 

“The duke was such a charmer, god, imagine if you went on with a speech like that today”. Jeno laughs, tongue parting Jaemin’s lips who indulges him with a few languid kisses, answering back in the same lazy and nice pace.

“You would laugh, most definitely”. Jaemin tries to fix his mussy hair, tucking a few strands behind his ears, a snap of tongues for the passing minutes. With a breath rushed and the uncomfortable narrow space of the armchair they both get up, dragging their tired feet to the bedroom.

Jeno looks back at the piano left alone in the lightened space, pressing his lips together when Jaemin notices he stopped to stare. 

“The song is beautiful, I think it’s really sweet that we have it”. Jeno turns in Jaemin’s arms, licking his lips with a mirthful look. “You could play it for me at our anniversaries or some romantic occasions”. He puckers his lips, smacking his lips. “Oh, I don’t like valentine’s day by the way, so maybe we could skip that”.

“Mh, you’re already planning our anniversary, do I have any say in this?”. Jaemin jokes, leaning to bite Jeno’s bottom lip and there’s too many smiles in between to make it believable or any kind of seductive.

“You do. Are you in for the long term or should we part ways now?”. Jeno raises his eyebrows in a grin as Jaemin gives him the fondest smile they ever shared, nodding somewhat sheepish.

“I love committed boys”. He says, framing Jeno’s face, stepping back in a kiss to reach the bedroom, falling ungraciously to the bed in a laugh at their foolishness. Jeno feels lighthearted with happiness, chuckling because he can, holding a man that could never escape from him once they met in Jeno’s museum room. Duke Jaemin figured it centuries ahead of them; it was never their choice, this is fate twisting its red string and tangling them again.

Jeno is thankful to fate, kind to bring him the brightest person he knows, making him gleam under his defiant dazzle.

There’s a humble nice house in a local area, where candles getting more expensive than the cake itself are blown and birthday songs are consumed in a choir of younger and older voices. The high pitched one of a child, the comely one of a woman and a deeper tone of her husband, another male voice getting hoarse with age. All celebrating.

A house on two floors, same number of the retirees living in it, about to head to bed after the small family gathering is over, balloons with the number 84 flying up the ceiling. A narrow corridor to a bedroom, furniture full of nephew’s toys, board games their eyesight gets too tired to play for long, caps and scarves hanging. Life of two old men cluttered in a nice house surrounded by nature.

The sound of a thin wooden stick hitting the floor, a louder complaint about back pains and trembling legs. “I’m too old for the stairs, we should do something about it”.

“It’s both of us, you grandpa”. Jeno guides the man to the couch, both gimpy standing up from the kitchen table, years consuming not only their burning hearts for the other but also their bones. Being old is not lonely, or defeating as he thought when he was twenty-seven and already worrying his age. Foolish Jeno for thinking he was old back then, those were the years he thrived, his golden days. 

The age he met his lover again, and all the birthdays marking another year spent together sure were a long ride. He lets a cackle out thinking young Jeno wanted to tell the story of a fate’s riddle, unaware everything had to happen. A loving relationship to an even more loving husband, carrying that same charming and gentle smile in warm brown eyes matted with age and Jeno still thinks he’s the most beautiful man his eyes ever laid on. 

A daughter, growing and making their hair turn grey with all the responsibilities parenting entails, supporting her passions and changes of mind when she was a teen, to see another matured life they grew together find happiness in marriage. The blessing of a nephew, maybe too spoiled but what else can they do when they’re two old non working elders who have all the time to still love the other as it is the first days, knowing every feature and shade of their personality by heart cherishing all of it, ugly bits included. Conserving memories in old diaries so Jeno won’t forget.

There’s a portrait of his face hanging in what used to be Jaemin’s art studio when he was younger and his arms didn’t hurt as much just keeping the brushes up for hours, another concrete memory conserved through time. Family pictures, their daughter growing in a sequence showing in one of the many wooden shelves; a photo of her marriage, a few of Jeno and Jaemin wedding day or candids from their youth.

Mingling families, sharing the pain of the loss of a parent, faces shaping and aging with wrinkles, curving backs and Jeno finds the beauty of loving each step, always looking forward to the next one. It’s rare, to find something grounding you to a world many try to escape from, finding someone accompanying you with the same astonishingly devoted passion.

They’re getting old, reaching the end of this life, and Jeno could not wake up tomorrow and yet he’d feel the richest man in the world. He’s always ready to say goodbye eventually knowing the chances are increasing, some mornings painful, pills to take and lucky for their daughter keeping up with their health when their minds are too clouded to remember - generally a permanent physical wearing of their bodies.

Jeno slowly sits next to Jaemin to the couch trying to spare some soreness, a hand on top of his. Withered skin under his palm, not as smooth as it was when the man was young, blood vessels showing, keeping the same old warmth that sticks and makes his heart full each time. The one of a man he loves dearly, sharing a history with him he sometimes tries to retell, upset whenever details slowly fade and only the vibrant feelings are staying. Making him believe this is real and it has happened; the longest, most magical fairytale existing. Jeno can confidently say Jaemin gifted him that kind of story, and a happy ending it has.

“You didn’t want a birthday present”. Jeno reminds, maybe sulking because Jaemin recently likes to be the cynical grandfather whenever there's no family member who could get worried, leaving Jeno to become the one husband dragging him into lively moments between them two. He's usually the one caught up with his head, finding beauty cheering up and learning to be more carefree for the sake of not giving reasons to Jaemin to fade before his life does. 

Sometimes he takes him by his hips when there’s music playing on the tv and Jaemin is cooking for them, giving up on Jeno's antics and sways them for a while in a slow dance, satisfied to see that wide familiar smile showing. They can’t really hug at night like they did when young because it hurts too much, always finding a way to link their hands during the night. 

“A kiss to feel young again and I’m fine”. Jaemin turns, smiling at the peck Jeno gives him.

Seoul, 13 April 4000

9:45

“Oh come on, stop with those tapping feet, it’s annoying”. Renjun rolls his eyes, stomping Jeno’s feet, receiving a sharp glare. The other innocently shrugs his shoulders, turning to walk and greet someone else inside the theatre. Other actors Renjun of course knows since he’s been working in this field for years. Unlike him, still having no idea why he's here in the first place.

Jeno loves performing, has been playing and touring in musicals since his last day of high school allowed the freedom to travel and he’s unsure why he should be casting for a movie at all. It is not his comfort zone, his performance will reach a different public who is going to see him on a screen instead of a stage, and he wonders why the director is so old fashioned wanting to play a movie with real people now digital actors are the new thing.

His manager begged him to attend the castings, always nerve wracking even for a professional like he is, jittery and waiting for his turn. The director is late, and Jeno’s tension doesn’t help the wait checking his name on the list. Apparently Jeno seems to fit the description of the main character’s qualities required in the rough script, the director falling for an old portrait of the 21st century of a man that inspired him to write a whole movie after years of adapting the stagings from books. His first original story after a while.

Johnny, his manager, says he’s sure Jeno is going to take the part, and it would be exciting to take a break from the stage life and try something new, he’s aware. Roles for him in a world where technology is taking over everything to the point where actors are content for those enthusiasts still battling to keep real actors in movies, chances for him to take an occasion such as this one are thinning. Problemi a few decades and actors like him won't be required anymore.

He folds his arms in a sigh, head rolling from his chair to the view of the theatre’s velvety red color according to the whole space. 

“I’m going to the bathroom, I won’t be the first one to audition anyway”. Jeno tells Johnny as he gets up, walking towards the entrance where if he remembers correctly there’s a corridor leading to the toilet.

He steps inside, old fashioned lights flickering being, well, old and he does nothing but trace his fingers to the border of one of the sinks, tempted to splash some cold water to his tired features. Jeno is an artist, a performer, uses and tires his body pushed by the adrenaline music and a stage can give him, what keeps him going until he’s this lifeless entity wandering in a room alone whenever he gets the spotlight stolen or turned off by a gaffer.

Flaw of a narcissist, yet no one is ready to admit it if asked. It is obvious people like him enjoy the attention, gleam with it or they won’t be doing his kind of job. One of the stalls opens abruptly interrupting Jeno’s jaded loitering, a man in his thirties probably running late with his lean figure as he bumps into him with his rush. 

Jaemin's frantic rising and falling chest when he looks down at Jeno between his legs, a soft smile as he kisses his inner thigh, crawling back in his arms. He takes a look outside realizing the sky is pitch dark, a vision that could be the one of the palace as much or of the city at night, both of them letting out a weary and quiet laugh when they look at each other. Relaxed and spent in their hold. 

Jaemin steals him for another kiss, this time calmer, a loud swallowing sound in the motionless silence. Jeno’s arm might get numb staying in that crumpled position, too focused pressing his digits to Jaemin’s stomach, leg sneaking between him as Jaemin pulls him on top of his laying body. 

“Ask me a fate’s riddle and I’ll tell them about us”. He smiles in their kiss, Jaemin’s eyes the size of the moon sparkling in that darkness broken by a dim light to his nightstand as their only company.

Jeno blinks his eyes repeatedly, the man identical to the Jaemin he just imagined in a sort of extremely vivid daydream stares at him as puzzled. Eyes reflecting the same shock, bouncing from a body to another. A pleasing twisting of his stomach taking in a gentle slope of a nose, slim face and big dark eyes never leaving his, dark brown of his hair falling in longer locks parted in the middle. A beautiful man Jeno tries to recollect when he already saw him, frowning with a tilt of his head.

“Have we met before?”. He asks, hand gripping the cold sink behind him.

The man smiles, leaving an airy low chuckle and even that sounds too familiar, no way this is the first time he sees him. There’s a weird tug at his chest telling Jeno he knows everything and nothing at the same time about him.

“How crazy would you think I am if I tell you I’m sure we did, just not in this life?”. He raises a hopeful eyebrow, and Jeno would think this very attractive man is out of his mind if he doesn’t feel the exact same way.

“At all”. Jeno almost whispers, stretching his hand to shake. “Lee Jeno”.

“Na Jaemin, the movie director”. He shakes his hand, Jeno straightening his back as they keep staring at each other.

“I’d like to tell you we’re not old”. Jeno tilts his head, taking in Jaemin's face that still hides all he used to see when they first met in this life behind layers of time spent together, a fond illusion kept with the years. Fifty-seven years to be exact. It’s an absurd amount of days and months combined whenever Jeno thinks of the physical number, except time really flies when you’re happy. “I’m afraid we are''.

“I’m not scared to die”. Jaemin nods, looks down at their intertwined hands. “I know I’ll meet you again, and I’m sure I won’t be able to take my eyes off you when I do”.

Jeno presses his lips, a shy and teasing smile at his husband’s corny words. They don’t slip from the elder’s mouth as often nowadays, Jeno found himself comforting Jaemin for his fear of aging and not being able to treat Jeno as he’d like. Spent years fearing the future to realize it has already passed, and Jeno is always there to remind Jaemin all they have to do is appreciate the slowness of time, be supportive and good fathers for their daughter and the nicest grandparents for their nephew. That’s all they have to do, and there’s so much space to love, to appreciate all the efforts to never leave the other’s side through all those years.

And when it comes to his love for Jaemin, effort is never a word he’d use. It all came natural, with the awareness they lived a kind life for their conditions, where they have been allowed to love and live together and see them age. This isn’t something Jeno can take for granted, it’s is the richness of life many talk about. 

“I guess it’s your turn now, for the universe to listen. I already asked to meet you again once”.

“Oh, mine isn’t a request”. Jaemin kisses Jeno’s hand. “I’m sure of it”.

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize for some historical inaccuracies, especially in the dialogues/language used by the characters! and if you're here, thank you for reading <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/jenlvbug) [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/ir02ne)


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